


Prelude To Perfection

by Calvi_sama, Rapscallion



Series: Perfection [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapscallion/pseuds/Rapscallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prelude to Perfection is a Valenwind piece, featuring Cid and Vincent, more accurately Cid's pursuit of Vincent and the inevitable result of some serious hard work.  This piece is set within the world of main game canon, on the timeline of Cloud and Co. on their way to intercept Meteor, only with a slightly more relaxed schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Petrified

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a co-authored effort with Silence_laughs aka Rapscallion, and while following main game canon, is written with a little creative licence on the authors' part. This was mainly to illustrate the romantic relationship between two characters who do not share a relationship canonically beyond comrades. It is the authors' humble opinion that this is an egregious error, but that's the beauty of fanfiction. Silence_laughs writes Cid and Calvi_sama writes Vincent. This series was posted with the co-author's consent.

"You really think you're somethin', don't ya, Valentine? All that an' a bag o' chips, huh?" Cid sneered. Vincent made no response, exactly as Cid had expected. "Yeah, I know what y're thinkin'. Think y're better'n us 'cause the big scary madman locked y'away in the big dark basement, dontcha?" Vincent did not even blink. Fitting. No, perfect. "Think y're th'only one of us got a reason t'hate 'em? Think y're th'only one t'have a score t'settle? Think again. Look around ya, Valentine! Why the hell y'think we're all here? We all got somethin' drivin' us t'get this done. An' you," Cid snorted disdainfully, "actin' like we ain't worth nothin'. Well let me tell ya this- you ain't no better'n us. Y'ain't worth no more'n any of us." Vincent continued to stare, mute and unmoving. Cid poked him in the chest with the wooden handle of his spear. "An' y'don't mean a damn thing t'me. Nossir, no more'n the rest of 'em. So don't go thinkin' that, either. We don't need you. So quit actin' like we do. Quit thinkin' we're obligated t'save yer ass. F'it was up t'me, we'd leave ya here. Woulda left ya last time. Hell, I wouldn't'a even gone through the trouble o' gettin' y'outta the damn coffin if I'd'a known how much trouble y'were gonna be. Tch." He turned away from Vincent and spat on the ground. "An' another thing. It's a real shame- no, no, it's a damn crime fer someone t'look so good an' have no personality. A real waste o' …attractiveness. Don't look at me like that-" (Vincent's gaze had not shifted in the least) "-I ain't sayin' I want nothin' t'do with ya. Ain't you been listenin' t'me at all? Pfft."

_No, no I don't, Cid Highwind,_  Vincent thought, empty and yet slowly becoming irritated at his current paralysis. Of all the members of AVALANCHE, Highwind was the only one who made him feel something other than indifference, and right now he was being nudged closer to a sad anger.  _I_ never  _thought myself 'better', though I am on a different level than you. Don't you see that, Highwind? Don't you see that I am responsible for all of your 'scores'? I never expected different treatment because of what was done to me, for I never cared about what you all thought. I am suffering my punishment as I_   _should, and never have I asked for your pity._  Vincent was itching to move, hating his inability to even blink.  _You're right about one thing though, Highwind. You_ don't _need me, no one_ needs  _me. I am a creation that should never have been created, an experiment that_ should  _have failed, and I_ _should not mean_ _anything_ _. So leave me, Highwind, I do not care, and must I remind you that it was_ I _who joined_ you _? The only obligation that any of you have is to live your lives. That is the blessing that you all have, and one that has been taken from me. Let me not stand in your way! Walk right through me and be gone. Leave me to sort out my need for revenge, my vendetta you would NEVER understand._  Vincent thought that if he tried hard enough, maybe he could at least glare, so he tried, in vain, to do even that. This was worse than when Hojo had had a hold of him. At least then he had been able to move a little.  _And do not speak to me of beauty. Are you so shallow that you cannot see below the surface of a pretty face to the ugliness beneath? Who I was matters not to me anymore, just as who I am should not matter to_ you _. It is none of your business. It has never_ been _any of your business. Why can you not just leave me alone? All of you! I did not join you looking for friends. Friends are another way for one to get hurt or a tool to use to hurt another. Just leave me to my fate, and stop wasting your time._

"An' damn it all stop doin' whatever the hell it is y'do! I dunno if the bastard gave ya some psychic shit or whatever, but dammit I don't wanna be thinkin' about you when I'm teachin' that lummox how t'fly!" Cid pounded a fist against the tree supporting Vincent, far enough away, he hoped, that he would not frighten Vincent. He left it curled there, and realized quite suddenly that the entire display had probably been rather frightening. Cid could, now that he tried, feel acutely the gunman's shame at his current vulnerability and perhaps a twinge of fear. "Shit," he said, and dragged his other hand down his face. "Sorry, Vince. Shit, I really am." The hand on the tree moved itself to Vincent's shoulder, which he grasped tightly for a moment before moving it to the pale, paralyzed face. That face haunted him while he tried to sleep- the sadness in those matchless eyes, the intelligence that seemed too much for a single body to bear, the body so alive and alluring and unquestionably deadly, unquestionable because he had seen before what it could do in the blink of an eye. He pinched Vincent's cheeks to force his mouth open and knew how humiliating it must be for this man to be standing here at Cid's mercy. He entertained brief thoughts of sliding in his tongue instead of tipping the potion vial to pour down Vincent's throat, but that would be unforgiveable even by Cid's standards. He fed Vincent the remedy but left his hand resting on the smooth cheek and uttered one more apology before dropping it and stepping back to make sure it had the right effect.

As the potion traveled its burning path down his throat and Vincent felt its lingering warmth spreading through his limbs, gradually returning movement, he listened to Cid's empty apologies. They weren't empty because Cid didn't mean them; Vincent was sure that he did, somewhere in his mind, but they were empty because they were useless. A waste of energy. Finally his vocal cords were released and he said, "You have my thanks, and there is no need to apologize, Cid. The truth need never be apologized for." He stood up straighter, calm gaze never leaving Cid's, "But I trust that you are finished now? Perhaps we should go back to the  _Highwind_." Without waiting for Cid's reply, Vincent began walking back to Cid's pride and joy. There were some things that he needed to think about, reevaluate, and he had Cid to thank for that.

Cid stood still and watched Vincent walk away, feeling oddly lost and discontent. He hadn't said what he'd wanted to say, not at all- the frustration had taken over almost immediately and turned him nearly violent. He cursed hindsight and wished it would not show him so clearly where he'd gone wrong. It hurt to know he'd waited so long for a chance to spill his heart uninterrupted and ruined the one given him. He lit a cigarette before following Vincent, even now unable to take his eyes away. He was especially sorry for saying that Vincent had no personality; it was personality and not body that had first attracted Cid to the gunner. He wanted to run, to catch up to Vincent and explain the misunderstanding, but he knew pushing it further would only leave him in a deeper mess. He returned to his post at the cockpit and gave the trainee pilot the order to take off.

Vincent took up a position on the deck of the  _Highwind_ as the massive airship shuddered and rose into the sky. He didn't want to be around the others. They had always made him rather uncomfortable on any regular occasion, but now he seemed to be particularly more distanced than usual. He found himself surprised to realize that what Cid had told him when he was unable to respond had truly bothered him, and he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't started caring about these people and what happened to them a little too much. That feeling was a liability, distracting him and shifting his focus from what was truly important: stopping Sephiroth and Meteor. Yes, when this was over, he would leave them. They would be better off without him and free to enjoy the rest of their lives, and he would remove himself from a world that had no use for him. He only had to distance himself from the others, help where he could, and do his part to end the madness of two men: the father and the son and do his damndest to keep them all from becoming ghosts.

Cigarette dangling from his lips, Cid paced behind the cockpit for fifteen minutes after the course was set and the journey well underway. He could see Vincent standing there alone, and his first instinct was to talk to him and smooth things over. Immediately reality set in to remind him that he had Fucked Up, and that it would take more than charisma to get back in Vincent's good graces, assuming he'd ever even been there. Still, as it usually did with men like Cid, the urge to do  _something_  outweighed the urge to keep pacing and generally being unproductive. But…what to say? The time to apologize had passed, he knew, and he couldn't very well trust himself to say whatever came to mind. He strategized as he walked toward Vincent, but stopped dead in shock a few feet away. He was astounded by how much Vincent's outside reflected his inside in that moment- wind swirling his hair and cape every which way, his eyes staring straight ahead even as he took a step backwards, away from the railing- his body for once as much in conflict as his soul. It was breathtaking, and Cid felt he had no business seeing such a thing. He would have left but for the knowledge that Vincent already knew he was there.

Vincent felt Cid's presence as soon as the man had come onto to the deck. No surprise really. Cid, he had found, was a man ruled by his conscience. Not a good thing in a warrior, but it was a good thing in a friend. Cloud and the others were lucky, and he didn't want to abuse that fragility now. He turned partway round, looked at the big blond and asked mildly, "Is there something you wished to discuss, Highwind?"

Cid shrugged uncomfortably and shifted his feet a bit.  _Shit_. Well, he could think of several ways to make Vincent walk away for good, but that wasn't his goal. As for making him stay, well… "Kinda thought maybe it was  _you_  had somethin' t'talk about. I'd be glad t'listen, y'know. Anytime," he added for good measure, already feeling like this hadn't been such a good idea. "Y'don't even hafta wait 'til somethin' paralyzes me!" He laughed nervously for about half a second before realizing that it really wasn't funny. "Well…" His right hand went to the back of his neck as he smiled sheepishly at Vincent. "I'll, uh, be in m'room, I guess. Leave you ta yer…thinkin', or whatever the hell it is. See ya."

Vincent stood there for a moment, almost as though he expected Cid to launch into another verbal assault, but when the man dismissed himself, he pursed his lips and replied quietly, "As you wish. I appreciate the offer, and should I have something to discuss with you, I shall seek you there." He returned to gazing out at the horizon, making an easy, yet conscious effort to ignore the tiny voice in his mind, long dormant, that pleaded at him to reach out and stop the man from leaving. When the voice had stilled, Vincent found it rather soothing to just stand and watch the clouds, his mind as empty of thought as his future was of hope.

Leaning against the wall around the corner, Cid thought over his words, finding them just as badly used now as he had seconds before. Vincent had acknowledged the offer, but Cid felt he had used that claim as a cue for Cid to leave. He wished he hadn't fallen for it. He saw the smoke making its way around the cabin, giving him away. He cursed the wind, not for the first time, and wished Vincent had stood at the other end of the ship.

Gritting his teeth in mild irritation as the faint tendril of smoke drifted by his nose, Vincent closed his eyes with a sigh. Honestly, he didn't understand  _why_  Cid had to lurk everywhere.  _Clearly_  the man had something on his mind. Why couldn't he just  _out_  with it? Tipping his head back a little so that the wind whipped his hair out of his face, he raised his voice, "I know you are there Cid. If you are going to insist on standing on-deck, then might I suggest joining me at the rail? The view is more appealing than that of the propeller." He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Cid would come out or he wouldn't; either way, it didn't matter to him.

He hadn't expected to be called on it. He felt like a kid caught spying on his neighbors. He killed his cigarette and stepped just around the corner before falling back against the wall there. He edged a few steps closer to Vincent and sat, thinking that keeping his distance might make it easier to talk, should he be made to talk. He let the silence between them continue for a while before calling, "Why don't you talk to us?"

A brow rose as Vincent slowly turned to face Cid, sitting on the deck of his own ship cross-legged like a child, mildly confused, "I speak when I have something to say or if I am addressed. I was not aware that more would be required." Rather he had hoped there would be no further need for interaction.

"Well if it was  _required_ , it wouldn't mean nothin'," Cid pointed out. "I just wonder sometimes what y'd say if ya trusted m- us a little more." Vincent was always so quiet that Cid had no doubt that his mind was constantly working. "Like now. What're ya thinkin' now? Will y'tell me? I'd like t'hear it." He hoped Vincent would not tell him only the superficial thoughts, which he could hear well enough from here- something along the lines of "W _hy is he still here? Why is he talking to me? Shoo, Highwind. What do you want from me?"_  He wanted to know what really had Vincent's mind in its grasp that could make him act the way he did.

Vincent blinked. W _ell, since he asked_ … "I am thinking that you must have more important things to do than speak to me, as well as I find it rather annoying that you must lurk around corners rather that say what you need to. I am also finding this conversation rather…unusual. Is that what you are referring to?"

Cid scratched the back of his head again. "Well…not really, but it's a start." Flashing a brilliant grin in Vincent's direction, he discounted the first statement. "I happen t'value my friends more'n my time sleepin', which is what I'd be doin' now if I wasn't here talkin' t'you. I already said what I needed t'say an' a hell of a lot more'n I should've, an' I wasn't lurkin', I was…restin'. Yeah." He knew Vincent would not be so easily pleased, but if he expected Vincent to answer questions, he would have to answer a few too. "An' damn right it's unusual. You ain't had a conversation fer the sake o' conversation in way too long, I reckon. So," Cid paused, trying to find something impersonal but discussion-supporting to mention. "Did you ever breed chocobos?"

Behind the high collar of his mantle, Vincent's jaw dropped at the  _completely_  random and  _ridiculous_ question. "What does breeding chocobos have to do with stopping Meteor? And why would I do such a thing?"

Holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, Cid worked quickly to calm Vincent. "Shit, don't hafta jump down m'throat about it! An' see, that's just what I mean. You worry too much about what's goin' on right now that nothin' else matters. A man needs a little distraction. An' who the hell knows, maybe we need a chocobo t'bring us t'wherever the bastard is. Dead useful, them birds. An' there ain't nothin' wrong with it! Rewardin', really, 'specially if y'race 'em. Well, if that ain't your thing…what's yer favorite color?"

Vincent blinked and cocked his head as he watched Cid watch him. Had it  _really_  been so long since someone had spoken to him like this, as though he were…normal and just another human being? He was suddenly, inexplicably moved. Reluctantly, he answered quietly, "I-I no longer remember if I had a…favorite color, Highwind."

He smiled. Vincent really had no idea how endearing he could be. "Don't remember, huh? Well…take a look around you. Go on, go ahead. Gotta see somethin' y'like. Me, I like that grey color the clouds get when a storm's comin'. An' I know it ain't a real color, but I like it." Cid crossed his arms as if daring Vincent to say anything about it, though he was quite certain that wouldn't happen. He watched Vincent watching and waited for an answer.

Red eyes closed as a vision sprang to mind, unexpected, unbidden and so very painful from his nearly-forgotten childhood. A life where everything was perfect and he had no idea of the hell he would be doomed to exist in. "Sunset," he murmured raggedly, his voice broken. "The colors of the sky at sunset. I can see it so clearly. I thought it was lost. A blue so deep it fades to grey before ending in white, and the clouds are burned red by a dying sun. So many blues, light to dark, shot through with spears of crimson and dusky rose. The horizon of a land we'll never see in life, and now denied me for eternity – it will tease me with such beauty my heart will weep and despair." He opened his eyes and looked at Cid once more.  _Damn you, Cid Highwind. Damn you for making me feel this._  " _That_  is my favorite color."

He hadn't been trying to upset Vincent, but he did seem to be upset, and Cid had no idea what to do for him. "Mm…good choice, Vince. See, there y'have it; we have somethin' in common. You wanna come sit with me?" he asked, patting the space next to him, simultaneously hoping the gunman would accept and thinking that Vincent really was too good to be sitting on the floor.

"No, Cid. We have absolutely  _nothing_  in common," but he walked over and crouched next to the pilot anyway. Vincent didn't know why he did – craving neither friendship nor closeness – but he was relieved when the emptiness returned to fill him and the sunset from his youth faded back into the mist of his irretrievable past, where it belonged. He allowed his mind to empty, and focused instead upon the cold wind further chilling his already cold skin.

"Am I that disgustin' that you want nothin' t'do with me?" Cid shot a grin at Vincent, whose eyes had so quickly lost that brief flicker of emotion. He immediately regretted speaking at all; perhaps if he had not, Vincent would still be feeling. Another question came to mind, but dared not ask it just yet. He would have to focus for now on trivial things. But Vincent had come nearer to him, and that was enough to ease the heaviness in his heart that came with seeing such a great man so defeated. "Say, think maybe y'd like to have dinner with me one night? While we're on the ship, I mean? 'Cause I cook fer m'self, an' I always make too much an' end up feedin' it t'th'animals or somethin'. Wouldn't mind sharin'."

Vincent turned his head to pin Cid with a flat stare, "I no longer require food to survive, Highwind. That will not be necessary, though the invitation is appreciated."  _Why do you persist in this, Cid? What can_   _you possibly hope to get out of it? My valueless friendship?_   _Surely you can do better than that._  "And I have been around more unappealing individuals, I assure you." He stood back up but did not move away, as he felt that that might hurt the man's feelings. Vincent didn't need to cause more pain. He had done  _quite_  enough already without this minor infraction.

Cid shivered. Vincent, like the oncoming night, had turned cold. He stood as well, mildly disappointed that the conversation had been so brief. "Well, I won't make you eat, if y'ever just wanna come. Y'know, sit with me, talk to me." Taking another look at the dubious expression on Vincent's face, he shook his head. "If I ain't so repulsive, that shouldn't be a problem, right? An' you need t'quit worryin' about what's necessary an' start thinkin' about what you want. Playin' by th'rules is all well an' good, but it's a hell of a lot better if y'write 'em yerself." With that, Cid turned to walk away, and called over his shoulder for Vincent to come inside, as he didn't like anyone to be on deck in the dark.

Vincent watched the blond leave, impassive.  _You poor, innocent man,_ he thought sadly,  _but perhaps it is_   _for the best that you do not know what true ugliness looks like. I hope you continue to live in your little world where the ugliest thing you can think of is your own unique beauty. It is such a softer place than_   _where I dwell, that such a creature as you belongs nowhere near it._  Then, out of respect for the man's wishes, Vincent followed him inside and retired to his assigned room, shutting the door behind him. Leaning against it he looked dubiously at the un-slept-in bed.  _Make my own rules, hm?_  He thought to himself. Vincent hesitated only a second more before walking over to the narrow mattress and nervously laying down upon it. Folding his hands across his chest he forced his limbs to relax and his mind to still, and if he had been awake to realize it, he would have been startled at how quickly sleep took him. But it was not to hold him kindly as Vincent soon became trapped in the nightmare of his past, and through the cruelty of a sharp mind and hidden memories, he relived the experiments, injections and pain until he was once again reduced to helpless, blood curdling screams.

Cid didn't go to his room. He knew he wouldn't have been able to sleep, so he wandered the halls, pausing outside Vincent's door before remembering that he had no right to intrude. He made three more rounds, thinking about how terrible he was with words and how he would much prefer being able to  _show_  Vincent what he felt. Too bad that trust had to be earned first here, and that the awkward stumbling through conversation was necessary to earn that trust. At what felt like the end of his walk, Cid realized he was again outside Vincent's door. He would have very much liked to open it, stride in, and take the poor sad man into his arms, but that was impossible; it would likely always be impossible. He rested a flattened palm and his forehead on the smooth, cool metal, lost for words and strategies and even clear thoughts.  _Make your own rules_ , he'd said, but that was only possible if one disregarded the rules other people made for themselves. He whispered one last apology against the door, planning to walk away when it was done but not finding himself able to. He had to, he felt, at least make this right, and that was going to take persistence. He was just turning away when a heart-wrenching sound reached his ears. Vincent. Something was wrong. Cid's immediate thought was that he was in there hurting himself, which of course had to be stopped right away. All respect for Vincent's privacy gone, he barged in and was surprised, relieved, and unsettled all at once to see Vincent thrashing about, shouting like…well, like he was having a nightmare of the worst kind. Given his past, Cid was sure it was the worst kind. He knelt quietly by the side of the bed and took a flailing hand, squeezing it gently and hoping it would be enough to wake Vincent.

At the touch and capture of his hand Vincent's eyes flew open, and with a terrified wail he jerked it from its restraint. He violently drew away from the presence at his side only to slam back against the wall of his quarters. He was shaking so badly that he felt sick to his stomach and he couldn't breathe, gasping in jerky breaths as he looked around him. If had had any fluid in his body he would have pissed himself, the horror was so  _real_. He couldn't help the small whimper that escaped his throat, he had prayed that that part of his life was over, but even now he was a prisoner… _always_  a prisoner. He would never be free.

"Oh, Vincent," he said under his breath, and then, "oh,  _honey_ ," a little louder. Cid reached for Vincent's hand again, taking it lightly enough that the terrified man could have taken it away without any trouble. Gently, he tugged it to him and pressed it to his lips, remembering that his mother used to do that when she tucked him in for the night. "Just me, Vince. Just the Chief." He didn't move except to release the hand he was holding. "How can I help, Vince?  _Can_  I help?"

The voice was too low, too rough to belong to his tormentor. Blinking rapidly, Vincent's vision finally focused upon the worried face of Cid Highwind. What was Cid doing in the Lab? He didn't belong here! Did they get him too? Frantically looking around it gradually dawned on Vincent that he was not in fact in the Lab but rather in the gently vibrating hull of the airship  _Highwind_. With a moan he drew his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them along with his cape, and huddled in the corner shaking. "N-no one c-can h-help me, H-Highwind," He gasped around chattering teeth, "I-I will b-be f-fine, j-just give m-me a m-moment." He dragged the back of his trembling right hand across his mouth then returned it to around his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to get himself under control, but his heart was pounding too hard and he felt Chaos, deep inside, begin to stir in response.  _Oh please not now_ , he thought desperately,  _do not come out now. Gaia, give me the strength to at least help myself…_

Cid was afraid that any move he made would startle Vincent further, and frankly he seemed to be on the edge of a breakdown already. Talking hadn't seemed to hurt, so he settled for that. "Vincent. Hey, Vince, it's all right."  _Damn it, Highwind, he ain't an animal. That ain't gonna help._  "Sunset, Vince. Think about that. Ain't never gonna be another day you don't get to see it." Very slowly, he rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, not letting himself gain any height or get any closer. He wanted to hold Vincent through this. No, he wished it didn't even have to happen. It wasn't fair that Vincent had to go through this. And to think Cid had yelled at him today for such trivial reasons, and accused him of putting himself above others! Of course, he hadn't even believed himself at the time, and he figured Vincent knew he'd just been talking, but that didn't change the fact that he had done something so incredibly insensitive. "Not goin' anywhere 'less you want me to, a' right?"

"S-sunset?" Vincent tried, looking disbelievingly at the man in front of him, "Y-you w-want me t-to th-think of  _s-sunsets_ _?" Is this a joke to you, Highwind?_  he thought, shaking his head and hugging his knees tighter. "D-do you th-think th-that it is th-that s-simple?" Grudgingly, he had to admit that as his ire rose, his fear began to slowly retreat. Gradually his grip around his knees began to loosen, but his stomach continued to remain painfully knotted and his teeth refused to stop chattering – much to his chagrin. "I-I t-told you th-that I-I will b-be fine."

"Y'don't sound fine. Look, if there's nothin' I c'n do t'help ya, I'll go if you want, but I think maybe it wouldn't hurt for me t'stay."  _Not that I have a fuckin' clue what's wrong. F'you'd just talk to me, Vin…_  "An' it's stupid t'ask this, but do y'wanna tell me about it? I won't even listen, if y'want. C'n just talk, get it out."  _I don't think I'd wanna hear anyway._  Cid stood at a snail's pace and sat on the edge of the bed, looking concernedly at Vincent. "Even if there's nothin' I can do t'really help, is there anything you want me to do? Glass o' water or somethin'? A cigarette?"

Vincent sighed shakily, "G-Go, s-stay, d-do what suits y-you, I care not." He swallowed and nearly moaned in relief when he felt Chaos slip back beneath his consciousness. He was afraid to shut his eyes now, afraid of what images might come forward to torment him further, so he just stared straight ahead, right thought Cid, unseeing and unblinking. Eventually, when Cid (predictably) made no move to leave he said tiredly, his voice still hoarse from screaming, "Why? W-why do you ins-sist on speaking t-to me?" The damned chattering was nearly gone now and his stomach was finally convinced he wasn't being killed and was starting to relax, leaving him drained and exhausted.

Cid echoed Vincent's sigh and sat there waiting for the words on the tip of Vincent's tongue to make themselves heard. When they did, he sighed again and looked down to where his hands were playing over the sheets. "Why? 'Cause I feel like if I could just crack open yer damn shell there'd be somethin' pretty in it, somethin' worth keepin'. An' b'sides, ain't it nice knowin' somebody wants t'talk to ya? Always makes me feel better knowin' someone gives a damn. An' I do, y'know. Prob'ly we all do, but the rest of 'em's not as tough as me." He grinned at Vincent, but it didn't last long.  _Who are you under all that, Valentine?_

Vincent's eyes focused and slid over slightly to rest fully on Cid's face, "D-Do you?" he said quietly, "Yes, I imagine you th-think that you do. But in reality you have no idea what it is you are s-speaking to."  _And you_   _don't want to know, Cid, trust me._  "And if there were anything 'pretty' in this shell, it has long ago died, and nothing is left that is worth keeping. It would do you well to remember th-that," he said levelly.

"Damn it, you ain't a very good listener, are you? Didn't I just say pretty plain I have no idea who I'm talkin' to? Vince, look," he said, and paused. "There is somethin' worth keepin', somethin' that never goes bad. You just buried it so deep y'done forgot about it. S'one o' those things that gets better with time. Like wine or somethin'?" Cid shook his head when he was done speaking. Once again, what he wanted to say wasn't quite what he'd said, but it was good enough. "An' it'll do  _you_  good t'remember I never waste my time, so there must be somethin' worth findin' or I wouldn't bother. Got a sixth sense about crap like that," he added knowledgeably, tapping the side of his head. "Now, how 'bout a round o' go fish or somethin'? Got a deck o' cards in m'jacket."  _An' on that note, where the_ hell _did these come from?_

For the second time, Vincent found him struck rather speechless. He blinked slowly once…twice. "Cards." He said slowly, eyeing the dog-eared, much-used box of playing cards as though it were a  _mako_ -bomb _. You have to kidding me, Highwind. The planet faces utter annihilation, and you waste your time speaking to me and playing_ cards _?_  He couldn't help it, it was rude and mean, but he snorted a laugh. "I do not play cards, Highwind, though your offer is not unappreciated." And then he did something completely impulsive and utterly unexpected. He reached out and put his hand on Cid's shoulder, firmly. He squeezed the warm, muscled flesh under the t-shirt before withdrawing his hand back to his knees once again. "Hmph." He murmured thoughtfully.

He'd always thought Vincent's hands would be cold. He was glad they weren't, and even gladder that he'd declined the invitation to play. The deck only had forty-eight cards, after all. He shivered when Vincent let go, wishing he wouldn't. But…he wasn't stuttering anymore, and he'd reached out first, so maybe…maybe it was safe. "'Hmph' what?"  _Feel nice, Vin? I work out, y'know._  Cid sent Vincent his very best subdued charming grin –a difficult combination- and reached for Vincent's hand again, wincing when he accidentally brushed his knee in the effort.

Vincent jumped when Cid touched his knee, unused to casual contact from another person that didn't result in pain. "I-I just wanted to see if you were…real," he said hesitantly.  _Well crap, that sounded_   _stupid_. He thought as he eyed Cid's hand. His frigidity from earlier that day was beginning to melt away as Cid was once again exercising that unique ability to rouse feelings other than objective distance in him. "Wh-what are you doing?" He breathed. He was feeling something new and alien and it was frightening him a little. Frightening…and intriguing him.

"Provin' I'm real," Cid answered, and closed his fingers lightly around Vincent's hand without pulling it away from him. He squeezed gently and looked back up at Vincent, who no longer looked frozen and angry. "That okay?" He didn't smile again, just looked. He felt smiling would have given the impression that he was being sarcastic. Meeting Vincent's eyes, he wished once again that he could do something, something that would really help, but for now, he would content himself with these baby steps and hope they didn't take too many backwards.


	2. Dinner and a Show

It had been three weeks since his nightmare. Three weeks, and Cid Highwind had not left him alone, no matter how he had tried to gently shoo the man away with subtle hints and a conspicuous lack of return conversation. So now Vincent stood at what he had come to call "his spot" at the rail of the  _Highwind_  and waited for Cid to join him, as he always did, like clockwork and without fail. At first he had been surprised at Cid's continuing desire to engage him verbally, but that surprise had quickly turned into annoyance at the blond's persistence, until finally annoyance gave way to resigned patience. Vaguely he wondered what it would be that the pilot talked about today…

 _Three weeks_ , Cid thought,  _and nothin's worked yet._ He considered it for a while as he headed out to join Vincent at the railing, but stopped in his tracks before he even made it to the deck. He thought of chocobos, the ornery black ones he used to raise. It was, sadly, at least the second time in two weeks he'd compared Vincent to the fluffy birds. But those birds, the ones who detested people just on principle- there was a certain trick to getting them to behave. He figured it just might work on Vincent if he played the trick just right. Whistling, he tossed his jacket over his shoulder and returned to his room.

Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Frowning, Vincent crossed his arms over his chest and glared out at the horizon. They were on course and making good time. Everyone was rested and healthy. Their supplies were stocked _. So what is it?_  he thought with rising irritation.  _Why does it_   _feel like something is missing_? And it didn't help that Cid was late. Punctuality was always a flexible thing with Highwind, but it was getting late even for him. He looked around the deck as covertly as possible, but didn't see the eccentric pilot anywhere, and he thought with a spike of annoyance _, Cid had_   _better not be lurking again…_ but he shook his head. He would have felt the pilot's presence if he had been on-deck somewhere.  _Maybe he's not coming today_ , he thought suddenly,  _but that cannot be right,_   _Cid has joined me at the rail every day, why would he stop now? Was his enjoyment of my company an act?_   _No, it has gone on for too long for even Cid's tolerance for joking. Maybe he is ill after all? Perhaps I should go and check on him. No, he is probably tending to repairs…but we had seen to all of those at the last stop. I wouldn't be_ _able to absolve myself if Cid were sick because of me. Yes, I shall go and check on him. The team needs to be at full strength…_ And with his thoughts playing ring-around-the-ochu in his head Vincent slowly made his way back into the Highwind and with ever-increasing worry, towards the Captain's quarters. It wasn't surprising that his ire was pricked when Vincent saw the door to his quarters open and through it observed Cid puttering around in his kitchen, stained apron over his neck and tied about his waist cooking something that was giving off a decent, sharp aroma. Leaning a narrow hip against the doorframe, Vincent crossed his arms and watched Cid go about his domestic duties completely oblivious to the fact that he had company, and that said company was staring in mild disbelief.

 _Well that worked fast._  From the corner of his eye, Cid could see Vincent in the doorway with his eyebrows raised and a nearly imperceptible look of shock on his face. He continued with his prepping- baked chicken in a sauce he'd created but never named. Determined to ignore Vincent as long as possible, Cid kept his back to the door for perhaps another five minutes before turning and giving a theatrical jump at the "first" sight of Vincent. "Hey, Vince! What brings y'here today?"  _An' where d'you get off lookin' so sexy like that? F'I tried it I'd just look like a guy leanin' against a doorframe, dammit._ "Well anyway, come on in! Make yerself at home. Somethin'a drink, buddy?" Honestly, he'd expected Vincent to ignore his absence for at least a few days. In fact, it was almost surprising that he'd been affected at all. Nice, but surprising. Stepping up to the threshold, Cid reached out to take Vincent's elbow and gently led him to the table. "Have a seat, Vince," he said, pulling out a chair and gesturing to it.

Vincent took the offered seat out of reflex, having no intention to stay. "You planned this." He said flatly, not the least bit amused.

"Planned what, Vin? Dinner? 'Course I did. I eat every night." With that, Cid went back to the oven. The chicken was ready and waiting for the sauce, and the potatoes on the stove were also done. "Now, you want somethin t'drink or what? I got water, tea, an'…water." He made up a plate for himself and one for Vincent, even though he knew the gunman claimed not to need food. After bringing the plates to the table, he hung his apron on the back of his chair and poured himself a glass of iced tea. Normally he drank it hot, but there was something right about cold tea with dinner. "B'fore I sit, Vin, you want somethin' or what?"

Vincent never took his eyes off Cid. "No. As I have said, I require neither." He narrowed his gaze. "You knew I'd come here." He crossed his arms and waited for the pilot to come clean.

"Did I? News t'me. How long've I known, then, d'ya think?" He sat across from Vincent and started eating, watching curiously to see if Vincent would at least poke at the food on his plate. If he didn't, Cid figured he must have no sense of smell, because he'd never smelled anything better. "So, how was your day, Vincent?"

Vincent leaned forward and growled, "Do not toy with me, Cid Highwind. I am most certainly  _not_  in the mood. Has it occurred to you that your deviation from your established pattern might have been a cause of concern to me?"

Cid had enough sense to be mildly chagrined by the frank words. "Aw, I'm sorry. But y'know, you seemed to really be sick o' me, so I thought you'd like t'be left alone, that's all." He continued eating, closing his eyes as the hot sauce made contact with his taste buds. "At least taste the sauce, Vince. You know you want to," he taunted.

Vincent wasn't fooled, but he was done trying to wrestle a real explanation from the blond. He sighed, "By the beginning of the second week I was sick of you, now I am merely used to you." Curiosity getting the better of him and not an empty stomach, he peered down at the plate of…whatever it was that sat in front of him. Gingerly he reached out a clawed digit and poked at what appeared to be meat. "Cid, what is this?"

"It's good, that's what it is." At Vincent's skeptical look, he heaved a sigh and specified, "It's chicken in a sweet sauce." He winced as he realized the blueberry-based sauce did look a bit like blood. "Blueberries," he said, trying to persuade Vincent to try it. "Picked 'em fresh this mornin' when we stopped." To prove it was good, he dipped his potatoes in the puddle of it that had dripped off the chicken. It was a surprisingly good combination, and he made a pleased sound while he turned it over in his mouth.

He still wasn't convinced it was safe. He poked it again, "Cid, it just moved. Are you certain it is dead?"

Exasperated but determined not to show it, Cid took Vincent's hand away from the plate and handed him a fork. "Honey, you poked it. O' course it moved. Don't even hafta eat the meat if you don't want. Potatoes're safe, right? An' the sauce. Damn, bet that'd be good over some ice cream," he mumbled, and wished he'd remembered to buy some at the last stop. "Come on, just try it. Fer me?"  _Yeah, 'cause that's gonna work._  He just barely resisted the urge to snort at his own thoughts, knowing that Vincent would likely see it as some sort of threat. "An' if you don't like it, I won't ask ya t'eat anything I make ever again."

Vincent grunted and rather awkwardly took the fork. He tried to stab a potato, but the fork just glanced off the round vegetable. He tried it again, but only succeeded in causing the thing to flip off his plate and roll over to Cid's. He zeroed in on yet another potato but only managed to chase it around his plate. Finally he sighed, blushing and embarrassed as he set the fork down carefully, "Forgive me, Highwind, but it has been a rather long time since I have been made to use…utensils."

 _Damned if he ain't the cutest thing._  "Hey, that's all right! We're men, ain't we? Here, gimme that." With that, he grabbed up all the utensils on the table –except, of course, the plates- and dropped them into the sink. Deed done, Cid sat down again and picked up eating with his hands. Naturally, that led to fingers covered in sticky sauce, but he didn't mind. He looked back at Vincent, who was the only reason the utensils had made an appearance in the first place. "Well, c'mon an' give it a try!" An idea struck Cid then, and he held a chunk of sauce-drenched potato in Vincent's direction.  _Yeah, 'cause he wants to eat after you, Highwind, after he's watched ya stick yer damn fingers in yer mouth._  "Uh, well. Heh." Embarrassed, he returned the food to his plate and wiped his hands before reverting to staring sullenly at Vincent and waiting for the man to eat something.

Vincent cocked his head and felt a reluctant grin tug at the corner of his mouth.  _Right now, you're_  almost  _endearing, Highwind,_  he thought, and figured he ought to at least  _try_  some of the food, his irritation at Cid momentarily forgotten. Clearing his throat, Vincent leaned over his plate, eyeing his choices of prey. He located an isolated potato and deftly stuck it with a claw. The vegetable had no chance. Lifting the slowly dripping,  _gooey-looking_  morsel to his mouth, he first hesitantly sniffed it. Finding a somewhat sweet smell offset by a hint of tang, he stuck his tongue out and touched it to the sauce. He brought his tongue back into his mouth and worked it around.  _Not bad. It's a bit sweeter than I would prefer but…_  he froze. Was he actually encouraging this? This went against everything he had been telling himself.  _What am I doing?_  He studied the potato and found himself actually wanting to participate in…whatever this was.  _Well, perhaps this one night. Yes, I'll humor him this one night._  And very carefully he placed the potato in his mouth and chewed, allowing his eyes to drift closed as his enjoyed the nearly forgotten textures of the food. It had been so long since he had done something so simple, and yet so pleasurable, as eating.

Cid tried not to grin like an idiot as Vincent finally gave in. He was also thinking that it seemed to have taken a rather long time for him to do so, but knew he had no place to judge. He watched greedily for every detail of Vincent's reaction and reveled in the glimpse of pink tongue he received for his trouble. When his guest closed his eyes, Cid hoped fervently that it was a Vincent-subtle expression of pleasure rather than a barely-controlled urge to spit out the mouthful of potato. In short, he was on the edge of his seat and feeling a bit younger than his age. Realizing that it had been a while since he'd taken a bite of the food he'd been so extravagantly promoting for nearly fifteen minutes, he tore off a chunk of his chicken and chewed it with as much dignity as he could manage, so as not to scare Vincent away with his barbaric tendencies. In truth, had he been dining alone, he would have simply picked up the entire breast and torn off pieces with his teeth. Suddenly he frowned at his plate. All his potatoes were gone, and there was only a bit of chicken left. Shrugging, Cid licked his fingers clean before reaching for his cup of tea. "So, uh, apart from me, uh, deviatin' from my established pattern, how was yer day?"

Vincent opened his eyes and speared another potato, "Adequate, if uneventful, thank you." He replied and pulled the vegetable off his claw with his teeth. He glanced down at his plate and was rather curious about the chicken and how it might taste, but wasn't quite sure how to pick it up without destroying his glove. Actually, the answer was obvious, even if he didn't like it. Awkwardly he reached over with his gauntleted hand and unfastened the buckles that held on his glove, and slowly pulled the leather off his hand. He gazed at the pale white of his bare hand as though he had never seen it before. He flexed his fingers and made a fist before he reached out and lifted the chicken up to carefully saw through the tender flesh with the sharp edge of a claw. As he cut, he made a face at the cleaning that would be required of the metal after this. Job accomplished, he stuck the meat into his mouth and chewed, shocked at how juicy and delicate it was, and as an afterthought he began to slowly suck the juice off of his fingers. Finally he looked back up at Cid and caught the pilot's slack-jawed stare. Confused and thinking the man was waiting for a response, he returned slowly, "And how was your day?"

 _Aw,_ _ **fuck**_ _._  So much skin. He'd never seen so much of Vincent, never seen him so relaxed, never…and he was licking his fingers.  _Sucking_  them, no less.  _Just fuckin' great._ Cid shifted in his seat, finding that he had reacted quite inappropriately to this display of… _trust? Shit, it is, ain't it?_  He could not allow himself to jeopardize what he'd just been gifted, so he tried to relocate his thoughts to unattractive things, such as Shera. However, Vincent was still sitting there. And talking to him. And expecting him to form a coherent response.  _Poor misguided bastard._  "Huh? Oh, it was all right. Lot better now you're here. S'nice, havin' company fer dinner every now an' then. You look like you're enjoyin' it. I'm glad." He offered what he thought might be able to pass for a shy smile, though "shy" was not something that had any place in the Highwind code of conduct. His eyes were drawn to the skin that had been hidden by the glove before, so smooth and pale and kissable and…there was sauce on his fingers again, and Cid desperately wanted to lick it away. He briefly entertained thoughts of excusing himself for a cigarette or for a trip to the bathroom, but that created the problem of having to walk past Vincent in his current embarrassing state, and the probability that he would return to find that Vincent had left. Shifting again, he decided to grin and bear it. "Maybe, if you ever wanna come again, you c'n help me cook somethin' up. I'd like that, Vince."

"It is surprisingly good, Highwind," Vincent reluctantly conceded and stuck another bit of chicken into his mouth. The plate was rapidly emptying and his hand was getting more than a little sticky. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and held it there while his tongue scrubbed of a reluctant bit of sauce. That was when he noticed Cid fidgeting. He frowned around his thumb before sliding the digit out and licking his bottom lip. He rested his hand in his lap and narrowed his eyes in thought _. There is something_   _familiar about his behavior. Perhaps he is ill after all?_  Then he placed it, the shifting and shy hesitance, and his face softened in understanding, "Cid, do you need to use the restroom?"

Cid really wished Vincent would stop doing that. But then, he really wanted to see it replayed over and over. Just…not at the dinner table. And not while Vincent was still in such early stages of getting used to him.  _Cid. He said 'Cid."_ "Nah, I'm fine. Just ate a little too much, is all. Buttons're poppin' off an' all that."  _Well, part of it ain't a lie,_  he thought wryly, as he could have sworn he felt a few threads snap and threaten to release one of said buttons. "Hey," he said softly, forgetting Vincent's reasons for eating with him. "Thanks for, you know, checkin' on me. It uh, means a lot." One hand automatically lifted to the back of his neck. He winced as he remembered the sauce, and was glad to note it wasn't  _too_ sticky when he returned it to the table and then to his lap, noting Vincent's use of good table manners. He wondered if he could inconspicuously _…no, Highwind, you know y'have no self-control once y'get started with that shit. Just be still._  "Well, uh…hey, y'know what? I think it's your turn t'start a conversation."

Vincent shrugged a shoulder, "It is nothing. If we are all to defeat Sephiroth, we all need to be healthy." Then he winced as he felt his fingers sticking together, "I have nothing to say, although I would ask that I might borrow your sink, Highwind, as I am…a little sticky. If it is not too much trouble."

 _I'd be glad t'take care o' that for ya…_  "Uhh, sure, go ahead. The hot water tap's a little temperamental, though. I'd avoid it completely if you don't mind the cold." Despite his mind's protests, he half-turned to watch Vincent washing his hands. From this angle, his back was to Cid, and he was only a few feet away, and it was just so tempting to reach across that distance and pinch, just to see what would happen. But of course he knew what would happen. Vincent would never forgive him, and they would never even be friends again, probably, and one grope, no matter how excellent he was sure it would have been, was just not worth all that, so he abstained. With great difficulty. "Well, thanks anyway." He pouted a bit.  _What happened all the sudden t'send me back to 'Highwind'?_

It was a bit tricky washing only one hand but he managed, as well as took advantage of the moment to wash off the claw with which he had been spearing his food. Vincent could feel Cid's eyes on him and shivered, a little uncomfortable.  _What do you want, Cid? I cannot exactly read minds, you know,_ he thought. Then he brightened as he though he figured out the reason for Cid's waiting silence. He turned around and offered, "Do you wish me to assist you with the dishes?"

Cid sputtered quite inelegantly. "What? No, you don't do any work here. You're a guest, dammit! Just…"  _Aw, now you've done it, Highwind. Just what? You know he's gonna ask. An' 'just come a little closer' ain't gonna cut it._  "Just, uh, come sit back down, if y'ain't in a hurry."

Vincent blinked, getting frustrated all over again, "All right." He sat down, and still Cid continued to watch him with that peculiar expression on his face. Vincent picked up his glove and began working it back on his hand. After it was in place and buckled, he rested his hand on the table, tapping lightly on its surface. At last, after several minutes of an awkward silence, he sighed and said, "Then what is it, Highwind? I can practically  _hear_  you thinking, and that cannot be good."

Cid groused to himself a bit.  _Chocobos weren't ever so damn perceptive. But then, uh, I never had these thoughts with chocobos, either. That's…prob'ly fer the best._ "It's nothin', honey. Nothin' fer you t'worry about. Just…gettin' a little restless. Wonderin' how things are back home. I'm sick of everyone bein' so scared. I mean, I know we only got about a week b'fore Meteor hits an' all, but…well, you're the only one other'n me not panickin'. An' I kinda wanna make sure I do everything I wanna do at least once b'fore we go, just in case. The rest of 'em're sayin' 'screw fun an' focus on beatin' this thing,' but that's enough t'drive a man crazy. Ah, shit, sorry. You don't need me rantin' at you." He was rather less excited now, and comfortable enough to stand and wash his hands. While he was there, he began absentmindedly doing the dishes, standing so that he could see both the sink and Vincent.

 _Ah_. He could understand that.  _Cid would think those things._  Unable to sit still and let Cid do all the work when he had helped eat, Vincent stood and collected the remaining dishes –mindful of the glove and gauntlet, of course – and brought them to the sink. Handing them to Cid, who muttered his thanks, he leaned back against the counter next to the pilot and watched him work.  _He has such strong arms,_  he observed, surprising himself and suddenly he grew melancholy. He himself had nothing to live for other than seeing Hojo destroyed, but the world needed people like Cid and the others. Good people who made a difference.  _Cid deserves to be happy,_  he thought sadly, and placed a gentle hand on Cid's arm, not noticing the way the other man froze and held his breath. "And what is it that you want to do, Highwind? If the world were to end, you know I would see you happy before that time comes."

Cid gave a shallow sigh and turned off the water before drying his hands and laying one over Vincent's. He squeezed it lightly as he met Vincent's eyes with a sad smile. "I know you would, honey."  _But I can't tell you what I really want. In fact, that's exactly_ why _I can't tell you what I really want. But I still might be able t'get somethin' outta this…_  "Let's see. Always wanted to learn to shoot. All the other boys in town did, but Daddy wanted me t'fight like him. I'd like to see the  _Bronco_  rebuilt. I wanna- well, I dunno if I mentioned it or not, but I paint, right? I did the original model fer the lady on the outside o' this ship. Anyway, always wanted to do a nude paintin'. Just 'cause lots o' really famous artists did 'em, I guess. Wanna go t'the Gold Saucer again. Bunch of other silly little things like that. I don't even really care about most of 'em. They'd just be things fer me to use as excuses, in the end. Stuff t'bitch about, y'know? But there is one thing I'd really like to see before I go." He took a deep breath and regarded Vincent with very alive eyes. "Wanna see you smile. No, that ain't even it. I wanna see you happy. Really, truly happy. That'd make me happy as a man can be. Bet you don't know why. Wanna guess?" He paused for only a moment before shaking his head. "Forgot who I was talkin' to. You ain't ever gonna guess right, so I'll just tell ya. S'cause yer a beautiful person, Vince." He released Vincent's hand and dared to allow his own hand to rise to Vincent's face, where it cupped a _palesmoothperfect_ cheek. "An' I ain't talkin' about this face. M'talkin' about inside. Finally found it, see? You just said you wanna see me happy b'fore the world ends. That wouldn't do you no good, seein' me happy. S'just somethin' you feel, an' it's totally selfless. That's beautiful, Vin, an' I won't sit here an' listen at you arguin' with me about it." He dropped his hand and reclaimed Vincent's, but not before noticing that the skin he'd been in contact with had warmed at his touch. On impulse, he lifted Vincent's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "An' can you imagine someone so beautiful bein' completely happy? Seein' that'd be enough for me to go happy, too." _Well shit. Just put m'self right on out there, didn't I? I need a cigarette._  "Say, Vince, I'm gonna have a beer. You want one?"

Vincent blinked and shook his head, a bit shocked at the sudden show of unwarranted affection, then watched as Cid retrieved a beer. "No, I was not aware that you enjoyed painting," he said quietly, watching Cid's sad face as he took a long swig of the beer.  _Why are you so sad, Cid? I don't understand. Help me understand…_ "Who would have guessed that such a rough man enjoyed the more refined things in life?" He turned away, his back to the pilot, and wandered over to the table, trailing his fingers over the scarred surface. He stopped, and when next he spoke, it was low, nearly inaudible. "Any chance of happiness died a long time ago, Cid, a long time ago…" He took a deep breath and whispered, "Keep your illusions if they bring you joy, your ignorance of who I am makes them true, so hold them close. I would rather you remembered me in a lie than in truth." Then he turned and fixed Cid with a soft stare and a slight, teasing lift to his lips that one could almost call a smile. "And who would you paint nude then, Highwind? Shera? Tifa is quite lovely. Or perhaps you might want me to sit for you?"

Again Cid sputtered, turning his head so he would not spit anything on Vincent. "Would you really? I mean, uh, I can't ask you fer that, Vin, but thanks. Hah, Shera, that's a good one." He wiped his face before downing half his bottle. "'Ey, 's'almost empty already. Oh well." Shrugging, he finished the beer, tossed the bottle in his wastebasket, and looked back at Vincent. "Hey, y'know what? The world's gonna end in week anyway, right? If I can't see ya happy, at least tell me who you are. I meant it the first time I said I wanted t'get t'know ya. Ignorance ain't bliss, not when it keeps us so far apart."

Vincent lifted a shoulder in a shrug at hearing Cid ask if he would pose for a painting, but inside he went cold when the blond asked who he was. He chose to respond to the easy question first. "I would pose for you. I appreciate the arts, Highwind, and encourage them however I can. If painting me brings you joy, then how can I be so selfish as to deny you that?"  _Now for the_ other _question…_ He crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "Let me ask you something though. How do you see me?"

 _Didn't I answer that already?_  "How do I see you?"  _Yeah, yeah I did. Lots o' times. How many times I gotta tell 'im?_  "I see…" Cid reached for another beer. A bit of intoxication never did his philosophical side any harm. "I see somethin' like a scared little kid hidin' behind the past 'cause he's afraid o' the future. S'like…y'know when a kid's got it rough at home an' the government comes to take 'em away? The kid sometimes has a fit an' wants to stay with the parents, 'cause at least that rough stuff is safe t'them. Familiar. An' then there's somethin' like…heh. Somethin' like a cat with its ears all flat, like it's gonna pounce. An' a little bit o' mischievous teenager somewhere back there- that's the part that tells you to say y'd pose for me. An' then there's the Turk who ain't scared o' shit, an' the man in love who just doesn't understand. An' then after that…well, you get the point. I see lots o' things, but I don't know  _you._ " He hoped that wouldn't make Vincent leave. He wanted nothing more than to pull him close and just hold him. He was certain it had been a very long time since anyone had just  _held_ him.  _An' I bet that accounts fer a helluva lot._

Vincent cocked his head. "Hm, seems to me that you know me quite well. Would me repeating your words make them mean more?" He sighed and sat back down at the table, resting his crossed arms on the surface, schooling his expression into one of serenity, though his guts were anything but. "Leave my skeletons be, Highwind. Who I was before Cloud found me is no longer important. That man is long dead and buried. My business with Hojo was just that,  _my_  business and should not concern you. Be content with this, Highwind, my sins are not meant for others' eyes." He fell silent and regarded Cid a moment with a light upturn to his lips. "You said that you wished to learn to shoot. Perhaps you will allow me to instruct you if you'd like?"

"You don't listen t'yourself, do ya? If that man is dead, Vin, then it's  _his_  chances fer happiness that died, not yours. I ain't tryin' t'pry inta yer business, as much as it sounds like I am. I just want…it don't matter. I didn't ask who you were then. I wanna know who you are now. That's all I'm askin'." It was, he felt, a simple, honest request. The whole thing, he reasoned, had started out innocently enough. He'd been intrigued. Then perhaps he'd wanted to feel, to see, to taste…and now he wanted to  _know._  He much preferred lust to this…whatever it was that led him to care. It was, quite honestly, starting to piss him off.

A cold settled over Vincent as he stared at Cid.  _You persistent, myopic man…fine,_ he thought with a touch of acidity. "I don't know." He said flatly as he began to add another scar to the already beaten table, a clawed digit peeling up thin slivers of wood. He didn't even notice as he stared at Cid without blinking.

"You know what, Vin? I just needed you to admit that. M'sorry, shouldn't've pushed ya so much, but…well, I don't have a real excuse, but…forgive me? An' then we can teach me how t'shoot an' maybe find you a nice pose." He smiled gently at Vincent, who was still staring at him and…destroying the table. "C'mon, honey, we'll work it out together, if y'want. I'll be here."

Suddenly all four clawed fingers punched into the poor wooden table an inch deep. "You push me…you pick and poke, and persist in telling me lies…and you  _just wanted me to admit that_?" Vincent's eyes narrowed dangerously. He leaned forward but his voice remained smooth and calm. "Let's examine that admittance, shall we? You want to know who I am now? I don't know because all I have is my past. I'm nearly sixty years old, half of that time I spent in a coffin, Highwind, not exactly writing my memoirs. The reason I am even close to sane right now is because of who I was. Futures mean nothing to me as I desire  _none_." He stilled and said in a voice that barely shook and he gave a sick little chuckle. "You want to know what this body remembers now? Pain…needles…blades cutting through flesh…more pain, oh and let's not forget the enhanced mako injections…we must keep the little dears fed and healthy…shall we see how his body reacts to electric shocks? How about fire? If we disembowel him, how quickly will he heal?" Vincent was staring holes through Cid as he slowly leaned back and this time his voice was soft and silky. "Was that acceptable  _admittance_ , Highwind, to assuage your curiosity or do you require more?"

Cid gripped the table hard, as if trying to mimic Vincent's destruction. He stood –he couldn't remember sitting, but he knew he was rising now- and tensed further, eyes downcast. "I didn't," he said through gritted teeth, "I didn't ask for that."  _But he spilled. That was somethin' we never thought we'd see from him. I knew we had no right to go there, but…_  "I didn't ask you to tell me that. I just asked you to realize that you don't hafta be that guy anymore." He knew he had to approach Vincent, but could not decide what would be the best way to do it. He wanted to simply step forward and embrace him; to collapse against him and rest there, but now was not the time. There would be time enough for that later if this was done correctly. Approaching from behind would surely set him on the defensive, which was the opposite of the desired effect; from the front would likely find Cid looking down the barrel of Death Penalty. He walked forward slowly anyway, knowing that it sent a certain  _"I'm not afraid of you"_  message, and gripped the clawed hand, whose fingers were still embedded in the table. One by one he pulled them out. Yes, the blades cut his hands, and yes, he bled. When the hand was totally freed, he released it and wrapped his apron around his own hand to calm the flow of blood.

It was the blood that did it. Vincent stared at the dark lifeblood slowly drying on the table and he felt suddenly, deeply ashamed and nauseated at his behavior _. I had no business saying that to you, Cid, none. I hurt you and I'm sorry…_  He reached out and grabbed Cid's hand, dragging it to him and carefully unwrapping the soiled cloth from around the relatively minor wounds. Tapping into the energy of the restore materia embedded in Death Penalty, Vincent cast a Cure, sealing the punctures and scratches, even as his strength waned a bit. His face burning in shame, he brought Cid's fingers to his mouth and kissed them before releasing the pilot's hand and, without looking at the blond, said, "Forgive me, Cid. My outburst was entirely unwarranted and no, you did not ask for that. I am dangerous, and perhaps it best I should be left alone." Almost, as though offered in apology, he softly revealed this small piece of himself. "You said that I don't have to be that man anymore…but what if I want to? What if I want that simple man back, his values, his lusts, his dreams?" Unconsciously he rubbed a small spot just below his sternum. "I cannot have that, can I? No matter how much I wish or want or yearn, that man is gone." Vincent traced the ruined wood with his gloved hand, "I'll repair your table, Highwind." He mumbled and rose, fully intending to leave _. I should not have come here…_

His hands tingled where Vincent had kissed them. "Don't go. Not yet." He wasn't done talking. He was happy to see that Vincent was at least still in the room. Whether he was listening, Cid couldn't tell. "First off, forget about the table. It's old anyway. I'll just make a new one." Taking a deep breath, he considered all the things he could say and narrowed his choices to a few simple words. "Don't you be sorry. You had every right to get angry. It's about time you did, I think. Vincent, everything is forgiven with me. Don't you  _ever_  worry about that." It was the next, deeply honest part that troubled him. As much as he wanted to tell Vincent he could have anything he wanted, it just wasn't true in this case. "Yeah, honey, he's gone. Once things quit bein' simple they never really go back. Ain't gonna lie to ya. Know what you do? You find new values, new dreams…new lusts. You refine it, an' y'make yerself a better man. And one more thing- you are no more dangerous than any other man on this planet, and don't you ever even  _think_  you're better off alone." He had a feeling his words had had little effect, but they needed to be said just the same. The urge to just wrap Vincent in his arms and hide him from this hurtful world seemed to grow stronger by the minute.  _He just needs a friend, Highwind. Chill out._

Vincent didn't quite know what to say to that, but something had to be said. He slowly walked around the table and stopped in front of Cid. Reaching out he gently cupped the pilot's cheek in his gloved hand and leaned forward to place a kiss at the corner of the man's mouth. He kept his cheek by Cid's and whispered, somewhat hoarsely, "Thank you, Cid. The world is lucky to have you. I will consider…what you have said, and if you still wish to learn to shoot, meet me at the bow tomorrow when the sun is directly overhead to cause no shadow." He withdrew, taking a step back, "I will retire now. Thank you for the meal. It was quite good." He gave a small bow, barely more than a bend to his waist, and with one last, lingering look at Cid, turned and left the Captain's quarters.


	3. Target Practice

Cid had tossed, turned, smiled, and felt a bit nauseated all night. Vincent had sort-of kissed him, and that was enough to allow him to continue entertaining thoughts of the future. Today, though, his mind was occupied with the near future, namely his meeting with Vincent. He didn’t want to be late, so he made sure he was there at least an hour early. With him came a new picnic basket packed with enough lunch for two. He smiled at it as if it would somehow respond. The basket was what remained of the table he and Vincent had accidentally destroyed. The un-punctured, un-bloodstained parts, of course. As such, it was a bit more angular than most baskets, but it served its purpose. Walking up to the bow, he lit his first cigarette of the late morning. He had no desire to know which number it was in his day, so he split the days into sections and refused to add them.

When he had returned to his quarters, Vincent had just stood in the doorway, looking at the spartan furnishings. It was so empty, devoid of life _, much like me…_ and he was surprised at how much he had enjoyed being in Cid’s well lived-in quarters. The man’s influence was on everything, infusing it with warmth. Not wishing to remain any longer, he broke Cid’s rule and sneaked onto the deck of the _Highwind_ after first visiting the heap of discarded metal in the corner of the engine room. The night wind had been cold and had felt wonderful as it whipped his hair about his face. He had thought a great deal that night and had decided that perhaps it couldn’t hurt to try to…live, a little. And that maybe Cid just might be able to help him learn how. He had stood at the bow of the ship as it pushed through satiny dark cloudbanks, and he had watched the stars winking in and out of view while the moon turned the _Highwind_ ’s decks to spun silver and shadows. He had taken in the beauty, was awed by it, and had felt a sudden urge to share it with someone.  _Maybe someday…_ So Vincent had stayed, watching enraptured as the night slowly bowed down before the dawn and he had _actually_ felt his eyes burn as he watched the sunrise, heralding a new day, new beginnings…and it was here that Cid found him, quietly polishing Death Penalty after having hung the thin scrap of metal from a bracing strut. He looked up and nodded, noticing the odd-looking basket over the pilot’s arm, “Good day, High- Cid. I trust you slept well?”

_Okay, he’s here first. Why am I not surprised?_ “Well…more or less, I guess. How ‘bout you?” _Cid. Sounds so sweet from ‘im._ “I brought lunch. Just sandwiches. Gonna leave it here ‘til later.” He attached the basket to a bar of the railing to prevent it from sliding all over. “So,” he said, turning to Vincent, “don’t expect too much from me, yeah?”

“I do not.” Vincent replied, softening his words with a small smile. “It takes many years to become proficient in marksmanship.” He stepped forward and held out his hand to Cid, “Shall we begin?” Cid shrugged his muscled shoulders and tossed his cigarette over the rail, walking up to Vincent, who responded with a raised brow. Glancing down, he chambered a bullet, flipped the safety on and re-holstered the weapon. He guided Cid to where he wanted the pilot to stand then gestured to the secured hunk of metal, “Your target. The first thing you must learn is you never raise your weapon unless you mean to use it.” Then he drew Death Penalty and handed it to Cid butt-first. As soon as the blonde took the weapon, eyes widening at it’s heft, Vincent grinned, “It is a high caliber weapon, Cid, and has a kick. Normally rookies are not started with such firepower, beginning with a lighter caliber, but since that is not an option, we must make do.” Next he slipped behind Cid and pressed his body up against the pilot’s. Feeling it tense he said, “relax, Cid, you’ll do fine. Now, do you feel my thighs?” He rested his hands on Cid’s hips before bringing his gloved one down to the other man’s thigh and pressed it back against his as he stepped his own foot back, “You want to bring your foot back to brace against the recoil, because there _will_ be one. Raise your weapon, like so…” He raised Cid’s arm holding Death Penalty, “sight along the barrel for your target, leaving both eyes open. If you close one, it will skew your perception. Now bring up your other hand and cup the butt…stop laughing Cid, this is not funny…” He waited until the pilot’s body had stopped shaking with chuckles before continuing, “You want to do this to stabilize the weapon. As you become stronger you will be able to shoot one-handed…Cid, are you even serious about this?” Vincent rolled his eyes at the snickering but continued when Cid assured him that he was serious. He pressed against Cid’s back and rested his chin on Cid’s shoulder while he reached forward and flipped the safety off, “Now your weapon is hot…” he sighed and paused, slumping as Cid snickered again. “Are you ready now? Good.” He switched his head to Cid’s other shoulder. “Look down the barrel and imagine the bullet hitting the target. Take a deep breath and as you let it out, gently squeeze the trigger.” Cid squeezed, and as Death Penalty roared, the surprised pilot was thrown against Vincent, who absorbed the impact effortlessly, if not unscathed. The recoil had driven Cid’s elbow into his solar plexus painfully, making him grunt and wheeze, but he recovered quickly. He chuckled at Cid’s surprised exclamation, “You are lucky I was here to catch you, Cid, or you would have been tossed. I myself wasn’t so lucky when I was a rookie, landing rather painfully on my backside more times than I care to admit. Well, would you look at that? You hit the target, Cid,” Vincent said approvingly and gestured to the metal with a fresh crescent-shaped nick on its edge. “Well done. Do you care to try again, or have you had enough?”

Cid had to wonder why so many suggestive-sounding things were involved with this. It really was just too much. However, he wasn’t laughing at the words, as Vincent had assumed. He was laughing at himself because everything Vincent said and every little touch drove him crazy. _Damn, I ain’t gonna make it through this._ Assorted inappropriate thoughts, naturally, ran through his head, such as _I’d like to cup the butt all right,_ and _damn right it’s hot._ Mostly, though, he felt completely awed by so much contact. He really couldn’t care less about the results learning-wise, no matter what he told Vincent. “You do realize I ain’t ever gonna use one o’ these, right? But what the hell, I’m havin’ fun,” had been his answer to the inquiry about his level of seriousness about the subject. He wasn’t just physically close to Vincent; the gunman was talking to him, again using his given name, and he wouldn’t give up more time spent this way for the world. After finding that he had not completely failed (just mostly, he felt) he answered Vincent’s other question. “Had enough? We just got started.” He made a note to keep doing less than excellently; if he proved to be above decent, Vincent would insist that he try without assistance, and that was defeating the purpose, really.

They continued shooting for the better part of an hour with Cid making very little (if any) progress. Vincent had a sneaking suspicion that Cid was failing to improve on purpose, which was confirmed as he began to feel the pilot become more confident in holding the weapon and absorbing the recoil. Feeling rather impish and only slightly annoyed that Cid wasn’t taking the art that was true marksmanship seriously, he decided to up the ante a little. “All right, Cid,” he said, eyeing the big blond, “are you up for a challenge, then?” At Cid’s cocky assent, Vincent snorted, “Very well. Let us see how you perform with a distraction.” Vincent chambered another bullet and returned Death Penalty. He assumed his position up behind Cid and waited for the other man to take a deep breath. He could feel when Cid was about to pull the trigger, and just before he did, Vincent turned his head into Cid’s neck and nuzzled and nipped the blond’s earlobe. The result was nothing short of spectacular. The shot went wildly wide and the recoil caught the severely distracted pilot by surprise, throwing him back against Vincent who was likewise unprepared. They landed in a sprawl of arms and legs with Vincent quite thoroughly squished on the bottom with the wind knocked out of his lungs. As soon as he could breathe he burst out laughing, quietly but genuinely, his mouth spread in a wide grin. He lay on his back, looking up at Cid, who had clambered to his feet as soon as he had figured out that Vincent had broken his fall. “No, Cid. I do not see you achieving proficiency in this weapon…ever.” He took Cid’s offered hand and allowed the pilot to haul him to his feet. “I believe that that is enough for today.”

Cid was caught between wanting to pull Vincent to him and wanting to push him back down and yell at him to never do that again unless he meant something by it. He was lucky neither of them had gotten hurt. That had been distracting beyond any reasonable extent. It had, in fact, been a horrible tease, and had immediately reminded certain parts of Cid of Vincent’s presence. As they stood now, though, neither pulling nor pushing would do any good, so he just agreed silently and plopped down next to the picnic basket without releasing Vincent’s hand. He tugged the gunman down with him, a little too roughly, and almost earned himself a lapful of Vincent, which, needless to say, would have been more than a little embarrassing in his current condition. One would think that the shock of falling would have disposed of any traces of arousal, but then Vincent had called him “Cid” again and it had returned almost full force. “Sorry.” He let go of Vincent’s hand and watched him brush off imaginary dirt before sitting properly, knees drawn to his chest and looking expectantly at Cid. “No, I don’t think that’s fer me.” Cue brilliant grin. “But it was time fer a break anyway. You hungry? I am. Didn’t put yer sandwich together ‘cause I didn’t know what you’d want on it, but we got ham, roast beef, an’ turkey, couple o’ cheeses, and uh, mustard, ‘cause I don’t stock mayonnaise. That stuff’ll kill ya, y’know.” He set out the blanket before arranging the food by category. He had also brought three different kinds of bread, olives, and peanut butter and jelly. _Wouldn’t do to not have anything he liked. Well, not like he’s picky or nothin’, but still._ “Well, thanks fer tryin’, Vince. Had fun.” He smiled again, glad to have the basket covering his lap as he remembered which parts had been the most entertaining. 

Vincent snorted at Cid’s rather flustered demeanor.  _And people said_ I _was uptight…_ He leaned over to eye the choice of foodstuffs, but not before he noticed the basket still in Cid’s lap. “You seem very attached to that basket, Cid. Does it have personal meaning to you that you continue to hold it even though it is empty?” He didn’t really care about Cid’s answer, as it was irrelevant and continued to study his options. Two jars caught his attention. Reaching out he picked one up, reading the label “Strawberry Jelly”, then unscrewed the lid and delicately sniffed the contents. Forever-old memories washed over him, again of his childhood, of his mother calling him in from playing in the yard and making him sit at the table to eat. She had fixed him a sandwich with strawberry jelly on it. It had been his favorite. He picked up the other jar, unscrewed the cap and sniffed.  _Can it be? Yes! Oh how delightful…_ “I believe I shall have peanut butter and jelly, Cid _,”_ he said, and went about selecting his bread. Constructing the sandwich however proved to be less than delightful. Vincent grumbled and muttered to himself as he shredded three slices of bread before he gave up and looked hopelessly at the pilot.  _The gauntlet is useful in battle, but not in making lunch…_ “I, um, wonder if you might assist me, Cid, as I appear to be having difficulties.”

Cid grumbled unintelligibly in answer to Vincent’s basket inquiry. He was glad to see that Vincent was already otherwise occupied, as he would rather prefer not to have to explain himself. He had gone for the peanut butter and jelly. _Amazin’._ Cid had tossed those into the basket at the last second after remembering how long it had taken for Vincent to approach the chicken. _Poor guy_ , he thought as he watched Vincent struggle through taking the bread from its container. “Sure thing, honey, lemme at it.” He took the plastic cube holding the bread, removed two slices, and set them side by side on Vincent’s plate. He looked back at Vincent, shrugged, and reached for the jelly. “Gotta tell me how much, all right?” He spread the jelly on the left slice until Vincent indicated that it was enough. Making sure the next slice would line up correctly with the jellied one, he unscrewed the lid of the peanut butter jar and, with a new knife, began spreading it onto the second slice. At Vincent’s cue, he pulled the knife away and set it on a napkin out of the way. He lifted the peanut-buttered one in his right hand and gestured to the other one with his left. _So he can say he actually made the sandwich_ _,_ he thought, feeling rather proud of himself. 

Vincent blinked at Cid holding up the piece of bread.  _Um, please tell me you are joking, Cid…_ But when the sunny smile on Cid’s face didn’t diminish, but only grew wider, Vincent sighed and picked up the jellied half of the sandwich and pressed it against Cid’s, feeling only mildly embarrassed. When his sandwich was good and squashed together, having narrowly missed being goobered by strawberry jelly, he took the sandwich in hand and waited for Cid to make his choice of lunch, curious to see what the pilot would choose.

_Well ya don’t hafta look at me like that._ He felt, bizarrely enough, like pouting. Vincent hadn’t appreciated the gesture. _Fine, be like that. See if I do it again._ He knew he would, of course, so he just kept smiling. Cid located the Italian bread and began piling on all the meats and adding a few olives. He debated on the cheese for a while before shrugging again and adding a slice of each. He crushed the bread down, loving the way it crinkled faintly. He had toasted it before leaving, and the sun had kept it warm. Deciding that since he’d started the meal being corny, he might as well continue, he mock-toasted Vincent with his creation (“To gettin’ this shit taken care of!”) before taking a bite. Immediately, he set it on the plate and reached for the pitcher of tea. He poured two glasses and set one near Vincent’s plate just to be courteous.

He had watched, slightly horrified, as the olives were added to Cid’s sandwich, and he had had to remind himself that _he_ didn’t have to eat it. Vincent shook his head at the toast; lips quirked crookedly in a grin then took a bite his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Suddenly he froze in mid chew, remembering with a wince (and too late) that there was a certain way to eat these little creations. The peanut buttered side had been on top and as a result, when he had bitten into the sandwich, the bread and adhesive peanut butter had cemented itself to the roof of his mouth. _Well…crap._ Not wanting to stick his gloved finger into his mouth to dislodge the tacky substance, he proceeded to try to scrape the stuff off with his tongue, succeeding only in making a wide range of rather peculiar faces. This fact became known to him when he noticed Cid’s face as the blond had paused with his sandwich halfway to his own wide-open mouth. He gave a frustrated little whimper and pointed to his lips, “Is shtuck on roof of my mouf.” He tried to explain, face turning bright pink.

Cid raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. He waved a hand at the tea pointedly, wondering what exactly Vincent had expected him to do about that particular predicament. “Try an’ wash it down with tea. Prob’ly yer mouth’s too dry.” Thinking about Vincent’s mouth was probably not a good plan, Cid realized, and began searching the corners of his mind for a topic of conversation while he waited to see what happened with the peanut butter.

Vincent scowled at Cid’s obvious amusement at his predicament and snatched the cup of tea off the blanket. He took a drink, making a face at the taste combination of tea and peanut butter and jelly, swishing the fluid around in his mouth. When that failed utterly he growled and held up his gauntlet. Well, it’s good for something, the thought and stuck the first digit into his mouth to scrape the offending substance away. He succeeded in cutting his lips and the roof of his mouth, the latter of which closed almost immediately and former stopped bleeding just as quickly, only leaving scratches. They would heal momentarily. He groaned in relief as the hunk of soggy bread finally made it down his throat. Without a second look at Cid, he flipped his sandwich over the _right_ way and determinedly proceeded to finish it.

Seeing Vincent bleeding, naturally, made Cid want to leap across the blanket and comfort him. Not that Vincent needed comfort, of course. It was just instinct. The cuts healed quickly, as they always did for the gunman, and left Cid staring again at his mouth. Which, he reminded himself, was not a good idea. But he didn’t really want to do anything else. Taking a swallow of tea, he dragged a random question from underneath the rug. “Hey, Vince? What, uh, what turns you on?” _Aw, shit, I shouldn’t’ve asked that. Really shouldn’t. Should apologize an’ take it back. Except I wanna know what ‘e says. But I really shouldn’t’ve…all right, dammit, this ain’t gettin’ nobody nowhere._ He took another bite of his sandwich and closed his eyes against the quiet outburst he was anticipating.

That question should have surprised him or at the very least insulted him, but it did neither. Instead Vincent grew thoughtful. He picked up his cup of tea, propping his arm on his knee while bracing his gauntleted hand on the blanket. He frowned and winced when the motion pulled at his torn lips. He thought hard, eyes going unfocused for a moment as he searched past memories and could only come up with, “I don’t know, Cid. I remember what aroused me as a Turk, but as I think back on it now, those things were trivial and unimportant. How about I make this deal with you: if I think of something that arouses me, I shall tell you. Is that acceptable?” He took a sip of his tea and returned an identical question. “And what ‘turns you on’, Cid?” He carefully watched for the pilot’s response

“Yeah, that’s acceptable. Me? Well, I’m not so complicated. You prob’ly figured this out by now, but it sure ain’t women, if y’catch my drift.” He waited for Vincent’s reaction and received only a small sound that honestly could have meant anything. “But I don’t just fall fer any pretty face. Takes a special kind o’ guy, y’know?” He smiled ruefully. “Daddy was so disappointed when I told ‘im. But that ain’t what you asked, is it? Well, I don’t guess there’s anythin’ really specific turns me on. I do appreciate a good pair o’ legs, though, but that’s just physical.” _An’ you got a damn nice pair o’ legs under all that, I bet._  

Vincent was mildly confused. “You do not desire women? Then what is Shera to you? I thought that you two were together?” He once again became thoughtful and slightly melancholy. “I loved a woman. Loved her deeply, _still_ love her…but it…didn’t work out.” He swallowed and looked down into his half-empty cup. He chuckled quietly. “I cannot say that my father was terribly pleased when he discovered my first sexual encounter with a man, but my mother – _Odin_ keep her – smoothed it over and he grew to accept it. I often wonder what he would have thought of…” he trailed off, then cleared his throat, “…of my relationship with Lucrecia, brief though it was.” He looked back at Cid and by the man’s expression, he knew his own to be morose, so he struggled to smile and asked, “A special kind of guy, hm? Describe your perfect mate, Cid. If you could have that man, what would he be like?”

Cid’s eyes widened when Vincent mentioned having been with a man. That just offered a whole world of new opportunities. He could picture it so clearly in his head, that slim body wrapped around another one, broader and more muscular, long limbs entwined with thicker ones, pale skin against tanned skin; sweat and panting and… _shut the hell up, dammit, not now._ “She-” he had to stop to clear his throat “Shera? Hah. Pretty much signed ‘erself away to me when the whole rocket launch went wrong. Her life fer my dream. I let ‘er live, so she decided t’live fer me. Don’t want nothin’ t’do with ‘er, really. Just that she didn’t have anywhere else t’go, an’ she makes a kick-ass pot o’ tea.” He watched Vincent speak of Lucrecia, something he’d never seen him do so casually. He counted it an improvement. Vaguely, he wondered if Vincent had been hiding something else when he referred again to the sealed woman, but he did not have the will to pry at the moment. He was trying to figure out how to honestly answer Vincent without scaring him away. “If I could have ‘im, he’d be…shit, Vin, he’d be…hm. Small enough fer me t’pick up if I wanted to, but not tiny, ‘cause that’s just...weird. Smart, smart enough t’keep up with me in conversation. But I wouldn’t want ‘im t’be airship technical. Keep work an’ play separate, y’know? He’d hafta be able t’bake. I can cook, but I can’t bake worth shit. An’ o’ course I sure hope he don’t mind me smokin’ an’ cussin’. Yeah, that’s th’important thing, bein’ able t’put with me. I’d want ‘im good-lookin’, o’ course, but that ain’t necessary. An’ quiet, prob’ly. Sweet an’ warm an’ in love with me. An’ in bed-” He cleared his throat again, embarrassed at his getting carried away. “Well, that don’t really come into it. But I wouldn’t let ‘im go, not ever. Not if I had y-im.” _That was stupid close, Highwind._ “What about you? Got any ideas on what’s perfect fer you yet? I know y’just said y’don’t remember, but…” he shrugged, prying again even though he’d been determined to just _shut his mouth._

Vincent chuckled. “That is quite a list, Cid.  Do you think there is someone out there who can fill all of your requirements?” He pushed at his hair only to lose it again to the wind and have it fly in his face as he watched Cid. He leaned back against a strut, ducking behind his mantle a moment as he considered answering Cid’s last question. Finally, he shrugged mentally. _What could it hurt?_ “My perfect mate?” He bit his bottom lip as he thought of what he wanted, but had never found. “Trust, Cid. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter, but I have to be able to trust them with all that I am. I want compassion, but not pity. They would have to have a strength of spirit and not judge me for all of my many flaws. They must not fear me, but they must respect me for while I would never willingly hurt them, I _am_ dangerous. I need for them to love me, because I have… _would_ die for them. I need a partner, a friend…someone who will hold me, and let me hide in them when the world becomes too much and someone who will let me protect them when they need it.” He chuckled again, softly, “Forgive me, Cid, I fear I have become rather dramatic in my unrealistic desires.” He met Cid’s steady blue gaze. “There is only pain in this world, and nothing worth believing in any more. People only exist to use you and manipulate you for their own wants and desires. If you are brave enough to trust, then you must be strong enough, and prepared to be destroyed. I don’t think I could do it again, place my complete trust in someone to have them ultimately betray me, not when everyone I have ever known and loved has done that to me.” He sighed and swiveled his gaze out over the rail of the Highwind onto the horizon, “I have learned my lessons well both in life and in death. If you can learn from my mistakes, then I pray that you do, for it would kill me to see this happen to you, Cid.”  _Not to you_.

_Can’t you see? Oh, Vincent, can’t you **see**?_ He laughed with Vincent at the beginning from a sense of duty. “It ain’t that much to ask. An’ I happen t’know he does exist.” He was quiet then for Vincent’s answer, and remained quiet for moments after before setting about countering all that negativity. “Hey, if I can be demandin’, you can be dramatic. An’ there ain’t nothin’ unrealistic about any o’ that. There are good people left, honey. You just gotta sift through all the bad ones first, sometimes. There’s more than pain, baby. You’re just…an’ don’t you get mad at me. You’re afraid of it if it ain’t pain, ‘cause pain is pain on the surface an’ can’t take ya by surprise. Not everybody’s out to hurt you. In fact, most people ain’t. You just ran inta more trouble early on than most other people. But y’re right about that one thing- you gotta be brave to trust, an’ strong enough to take possible bad consequences. But you are, Vin. You’re one o’ the bravest people I know, an’ I know you’re strong enough.” He couldn’t hold himself back anymore; he stood and walked around the blanket to sit next to Vincent. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the shoulder farthest from him and pulled Vincent gently to lean against him. “Don’t you worry about me, honey. You know I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. I could learn from what you’re callin’ ‘your’ mistakes, but I’d rather make my own. B’sides, if anybody does knock me down, I bounce.”

Vincent smiled wryly as he allowed himself to slump against Cid, “ _That_ I believe, Cid. You are one of the most stubborn people I know. And I have known quite a few.” He sat there a moment, his head blissfully empty of thought, enjoying the closeness for once before he pulled away and turned to face Cid who did likewise. He reached up and placed a hand to either side of the pilot’s face, ever mindful of the lethal blades on his fingers. He stared deeply in Cid’s eyes, searching for any trace of a lie and asked levelly, never loosening his hold on the man’s face, “Do you fear me, Cid? Do I dare try one last time to put faith in someone, and would you betray me? Answer me truthfully…respect me enough to do that.”

Cid figured he was in some sort of heaven. What else would allow him to be in this position with Vincent? He leaned into a hand, not caring which it was, but did not close his eyes. “I have no right to tell you whether you should or not. But no, I ain’t afraid of you. An’ I’d like t’think I’d die before I betrayed anybody I care about, ‘specially you.” _An’ I could be everything else you need, too._

There was no lie in those eyes that he could see. Vincent swallowed, feeling _something_ flutter in the pit of his stomach. He lowered his eyelids until he was gazing at Cid out of ruby slits, “Then I shall believe you, and we shall seal it thus.” He leaned in until their lips were only inches apart, the pilot’s unique scent filling his nostrils and shivering over his skin, “More intimate than a handshake and more final than a bullet. I shall trust you…and only you, Cid.” Vincent closed the distance and pressed his lips to Cid’s, warm and gentle, caressing and yet chaste, he feathered his gloved thumb over Cid’s cheekbone and held the kiss for several seconds longer as he angled his head to deepen it just before pulling back. He opened his eyes and stared at Cid’s shell-shocked expression, “And so it is sealed.” He lowered his hands and sat back, smiling a small, knowing smile. That kiss had told him much.

He had no control over his body as his lips tried in vain to reach Vincent again after he had gone. Somehow he felt thanking him would be tacky, but he wanted to, very much. He reached for one of Vincent’s hands, squeezed, cleared his throat, and said, “I don’t know if it means as much, but I trust you, too.” Keeping the hand between his, he stood and pulled Vincent to his feet before releasing him. “I’m gonna clean this up. You go on; I’m gonna be here for a while. Hey, thanks for today, Vince. Really enjoyed it.” Cid’s head was still spinning as Vincent began walking away. “Hey, Vincent!” he called after him. “If, uh, if you wanted to know, I’m gonna start cookin’ tomorrow ‘bout four-thirty. Wouldn’t say no to some help an’ company.” He saw Vincent nod in acknowledgement but could not decide if there was also acceptance of the invitation. He hoped there was, because he didn’t think he could take it if he ever had to eat alone again.


	4. Of Wings and Warfare

Vincent had spent the night pacing his quarters, thinking, always thinking, and those thoughts centered on a stubborn, foul-mouthed, eccentric, big-hearted pilot named Cid Highwind. He had said that he trusted Cid. He had lied? No, _emphatically_ no. He trusted Cid as he had trusted no other, and he had sealed it with a kiss. Did he regret that kiss? Yes, if only in the sense that it left him wanting more. More of what? He didn’t know, and _that_ was driving him crazy. Highwind was his friend. He felt that, deep down in his gut, and it made him want to do something for Cid, but again, what? More pacing, this time accompanied by muttering, as he passed the time running his circuitous track both in his quarters and in his head.

The next day found Vincent greeting the sunrise, much as he had the day before, from the exact same spot. As the familiar cold air brushed his cheeks and whipped his hair, his fingers came up to his lips and he remembered again, and wanted… _What is wrong with me? What am I feeling? Cid is my_ friend, _it should be wrong that I’m feeling something stronger than that. Shouldn’t it?_ And then…Cid had invited him to help him with dinner. Vincent had every intention of going, as he now _hated_ his quarters and their empty, hollow walls. These little meetings with Highwind were giving him something to look forward to, and he found that was infinitely better than just existing day-to-day, cold and dead, waiting for whatever the future might bring. Back to the kiss…Cid had leaned into it, nuzzled his hand with his cheek. Could it be _possible_ that the man felt something for him in return? Vincent shook his head and pulled up sharply when he realized that he was pacing and muttering on the deck of the _Highwind_ and must be presenting quite a view for those who surely had to be watching. _Surely not_ ; no one would find him desirable, his twisted and scarred body, the demons living inside his very cells! He was terrifying, an abomination, and yet Cid had said that he wasn’t scared of him…that he _trusted_ him. _You have no idea what you are talking about, Highwind! I’m a monster, a creature that belongs chained in a basement…_ and then there was the kiss. Cid had returned it, was reluctant to let it go. _What am I going to do?_  

In the end, Vincent had returned to his quarters as the sun reached the mark in the sky that indicated four o’clock, deciding that he would wait and see what happened. He removed his cape and mantle, laying it carefully on the bed – yesterday, upon returning to his room, he had discovered a blueberry sauce stain and had no desire to risk further fabric ruination – followed by his gauntlet. He didn’t need to be destroying any more of Cid’s furniture. He would just have to reacquaint himself with silverware. He removed his right glove but the left one remained on. He didn’t want Cid to see that little legacy of Hojo’s; they were going to _eat_ , not _vomit_. He paced and fidgeted for a few more minutes before… _get a hold of yourself, Valentine, the man is your friend. Just go to his quarters already and try and have a good time._ So, with that little internal pep talk, (and feeling more than a little exposed without his cloak and gauntlet), Vincent sneaked from his room and down the deserted halls to the Captain’s quarters. 

The door was open, and he slipped inside and shut it behind him. Leaning on it, he looked around the living space and his eyes landed on a picture on the wall. Cocking his head slightly in curiosity, he walked over to the framed photo and stood in front of it, staring, a tiny smile on his face. An idea began to form in his brain. Idly he flicked his carmine gaze around the room and they lit upon a pile of wood scraps- the table. He spotted a small square of wood and his smile spread until he was grinning like an idiot. Looking around for Cid and seeing no sign of the pilot, Vincent picked up the square scrap and stuck it on the table by the door so he could swipe it on the way out. Then he returned to the photo on the wall and concentrated on studying every minute detail. He had a highly eidetic memory, one of the reasons he had been such a good Turk back in the day, and he now focused that amazing mind on the picture in front of him. When he was satisfied that he had sufficiently captured the photo in his mind’s eye, he let his eyes wander to the other pictures on the wall. While he was squinting and tilting his head at an odd photo of a man, woman and a child that _had_ to be Cid _(but what is he_ wearing?), Cid came around the corner, looked up and saw him, and very nearly dropped what he was carrying.

“Vincent!” He straightened and set down his armful of scraps left over from building the new table. There was actually a hefty pile of them now, between what he hadn’t needed for the basket and what he was adding now. Taking in the view, Cid realized that by Vincent-standards, the gunman was quite nearly naked. No cape, and one arm was bare. He was too much in shock already to process the gauntlet’s absence. “M’glad you came, honey.” He had dreamt the night before of making love to Vincent. Too happily, his mind began supplying images of what had come after, what Cid craved more than the sex. In his dream, they had lain together for hours, spent and exhausted but enjoying each other’s company too much to worry about sleeping. Vincent had been resting his head on Cid’s chest, warm and relaxed and _happy._ Happy. And so out of reach. _But maybe_ , he thought, _maybe not so much._ Stepping forward, smiling, he wrapped his arms loosely around Vincent after a brief, one-sided internal debate over whether it would be allowed ending in _he kissed me first, dammit._ He squeezed once lightly, then, on second thought, again, this time much tighter. He stepped back and rested his hands on Vincent’s hips. “Take yer shoes off, Vin, make yerself at home. Floors’re clean; I did ‘em this mornin’.” His mind slowly focused on the lack of metal on Vincent’s left arm. He wondered for a moment why Vincent was still hiding it, and decided to find out. Gently, he took the left arm in his hands and locked eyes with Vincent. “You don’t need this, Vincent. Not here. It don’t make a difference t’me what’s underneath it.” Cautiously, never letting his eyes leave Vincent’s, he reached for the straps. “How ‘bout this- you share this with me, an’ I’ll tell you somethin’ about m’self I ain’t told no one else. Well, I prob’ly owe you that already. Okay, plus I won’t ask you any questions ‘bout yourself, but I’ll answer any you have fer me. If you don’t want to, I’ll respect that, an’ I won’t mention it again. But you shouldn’t hafta feel afraid, shouldn’t feel self-conscious. Not with me, honey. Never with me.”

Caught completely off guard by Cid’s rather abrupt and intimate welcome, Vincent just stood there, blinking stupidly. But when the pilot had reached for the straps holding the elbow-high glove on his left arm, he came back to himself. If Cid had asked even a week earlier, he would have gotten defensive and perhaps even reacted violently, but between the warm smile on the other man’s lips and his own conflicting feelings, Vincent gently withdrew his arm from Cid’s hands and glanced away, clearing his throat. “You don’t need to see this, Cid. It’s not pretty…even I don’t like looking at it.” He rubbed the arm absently; almost wishing the pilot would press him to see it. “I know you wouldn’t judge me for it, Cid, but Hojo was…thorough…” He trailed off, glancing back up at the blond and wondered briefly what his face must be saying because of Cid’s expression. A little lopsided smile found its way to his lips as he gently pinched Cid’s chin with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. “And oddly, I do not feel nearly as self-conscious with you as I ever have with anyone else before…and never afraid.” He echoed Cid’s words in a whisper.

Cid nodded, accepting Vincent’s words. “Well, the rest of it still stands. I asked you enough questions already.” He stepped back and allowed Vincent to step farther inside. “I really am glad you came, Vince. And you really can take off yer shoes. I ain’t wearin’ mine.” He gestured at his feet. The left foot was missing the second toe, and Cid was ridiculously amused by its absence sometimes. “So anyway, I was thinkin’ meatballs an’ spaghetti fer t’night, that all right with you? And, uh, I wanted chocolate chip cookies, but you know I can’t bake worth shit, so if you wanna try yer hand at it, I got the recipe an’ all the ingredients t’make ‘em from scratch. Might wanna use the electric mixer –s’in that third drawer there- so you don’t hafta ruin yer glove. I’ll mix the meatballs, an’ we’ll set the spaghetti boilin’ when we need to. The sauce’s my own recipe, but I might have to have you do the actual puttin’ it together. An’ you oughta mix the cookie dough now so we ain’t waitin’ on that after we eat.” Cid was in leader-mode now, giving Vincent cooking instructions as he would instruct a trainee in landing or handling turbulence. “Eh, sorry. Unless you wanna just kick back an’ wait, or whatever. S’up t’you. But we ain’t havin’ cookies ‘less you make ‘em, just so y’know.”

Vincent’s voice came dangerously close to squeaking when he pointed to himself and said, “Me?” He cleared his throat again and his voice sounded a bit steadier, “You want _me_ to bake… _cookies_? Cid,” he said as he bent over to unbuckle his armored boots and sabatons, slipping them off only a little ungracefully, hopping when he got to his left foot and his balance teetered precariously. Finally they were off and he straightened. “Assuming I even know how to bake…which I _don’t_ …it has been nearly thirty years since I have done anything…creative…in the kitchen.” He made a reluctant face when Cid eyed him and he sighed. “I am willing to try, though I do not guarantee the outcome will be edible.” He gestured for Cid to lead the way into the kitchen feeling a little weird walking about without his boots on. “And I shall help where I am able. If I am to join you in eating this meal, it is only fair that I assist in preparing it.”

“Heh, Vin, I never figured you’d have hairy toes. That’s cute. An’ I can guarantee they’ll be more edible’n mine. Friggin’ Nibel wolves wouldn’t even touch the damn things. I tried.” The way Vincent referred to his past kitchen moments made Cid wonder if he used to regularly do “creative” things in the kitchen. Though…he was getting to be quite certain that Vincent’s definition of creative and his own mind’s definition of the same were quite drastically different. “You know you don’t hafta help if it don’t go well. Won’t hold it against ya.” He wanted to talk tonight. It was odd; normally he talked to prevent himself from acting on urges, but now…he wanted to spill his guts, not that there was much to spill. Cid began assembling the necessary utensils and ingredients, sectioning off the tables and the counters so each component of the meal had its own station of sorts. He pointed Vincent in the direction of the large pot on the stove. “See the paper next to it? That’s the recipe. I chopped an’ diced everythin’ an’ all that shit before hand; it just needs the spices added. Go ‘head an’ bring it to a boil, add what’s in that last little box, an’ then head over to the table. All the cookie stuff’s there.” Turning away with a smile on his face at Vincent’s apprehension –which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be enjoying- he stuck his hands into the ground meat and mixed it up a bit before starting to add the ingredients. “Let me know if y’come across somethin’ y’need help with.” Cid began humming a tuneless melody and shredding slices of bread.

Vincent’s jaw dropped. _Hairy toes? I do not_! “I believe you need to get your eyes checked Cid…that would be sock lint. I am blessedly devoid of excess and unnecessary body hair, thank you very much.” He turned away and stalked over to peer into the pot grumbling, “Anyway I am sure you need your back shaved on a regular basis.”  _Right, boil water…that’s easy enough_. He turned on the stove, making sure he had the right burner and said absently, “It surprises me that you are insisting the one person who doesn’t require food to survive help you prepare it.” He picked up the paper and squinted at the handwriting, “Your penmanship is atrocious, Cid.” He muttered, picking up the box of spices and comparing what he saw with the paper he held, frowning. _Umm, I think this is right…yes, this is it._ He started generously adding the strong-spelling herbs and when the pot began to boil aggressively, he turned it back to simmer, figuring it would burn if he left the heat on too high. Next, he turned to the ‘new’ table and saw all the necessary ingredients laid out along with a recipe. Vincent huffed and strode over to the table and began to study the paper, but got sidetracked with the battery-powered mixer. He picked it up, turning it around and over on itself, looking for a power button. He finally located the button next to a broken knob and pushed it. He started, nearly dropping the damned thing as it came alive with a quiet whirring sound, the mixer blades spinning at a dizzying speed. _Hm, it could be me, but this seems to be spinning rather fast, but Cid said to use it…_ Shrugging, Vincent began to mix the indicated ingredients together into the large mixing bowl that Cid had set out. When the parts were all assembled, he picked up the mixer and went to stand next to the pilot to talk to him, the bowl held at an angle under his arm. As Vincent looked for something to say, he turned on the mixer, which promptly proceeded to disperse the contents of the bowl all over Cid. Cid froze, Vincent jumped and shut off the mixer. “Um, oops?” he said, fighting a grin as the dough ingredients spackled the blonde. “Cid, I apologize…the, uh, mixer is set too high and the…uh, knob on the back is broken…” As Cid turned to face him, the man’s expression was too much and Vincent burst out laughing.

 _Shit, that’s a beautiful sound. But think about that later. Get ‘im back. Right._ Even Cid had enough tact not to slam raw meat into someone’s face. Eyebrows raised, wondering how sorry Vincent could really be since he was laughing so hard, he reached inconspicuously for the remaining chocolate chips. Discreetly wiping a hand on his pants, he reached into the bag, grabbed a handful, and began flicking them at Vincent, taking him by surprise, as he had still been doubled over in laughter. “Oh, whoops,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “Didn’t mean t’do that, Vin.” He flicked another, and this one hit directly between Vincent’s eyes. “Meant to do _that_.”

Vincent jerked a little, laughter dying as quickly as it had come forth, as the chocolate chip ‘boinked’ in between his eyes and of their own accord they crossed a little as he tried to track the projectile. He was an ex-Turk after all; training was training. He frowned faintly and looked affronted.  _What are we here, children?_ He started to turn away and spotted an extra stick of butter sitting on the table. He wandered over to it, his back to Cid, his body blocking what he was doing. He held still for a minute, neither moving nor speaking before he picked up the butter and weighed it in his hand. _Children? Yes, we are children._  He turned around, hiding the butter in his back-turned hand and walked up to Cid, who was leaning cockily against the counter, and smiled sweetly. “Cid I was wondering if you would show me how to make meatballs?” Cid’s grin widened and as he turned his back, Vincent grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and dropped the soft stick of butter down his back, then smashed it with his hand. He grinned evilly at the yelp it caused, “…And that was on purpose as well.”

Well. “Oh, that’s how you wanna play, huh? A’ right, I can play too,” he muttered to himself, scoping the kitchen for suitable weapons. There was still a bit of half mixed cookie dough in the bowl, but…there was also about a cup of milk left. He seized the carton and dumped it over Vincent’s head.

Vincent spluttered as the milk slid down his face and neck, then he set his jaw and dove for ammo _…then war it shall be!_ On the table were two raw eggs. He grabbed them on the fly, whirled around, and with the precision of an expert marksman, threw them. One popped in the dead center of Cid’s chest, and when the pilot looked up, startled, his forehead caught the other. Vincent chuckled as he watched the slimy contents run down Cid’s face. “Here’s egg in your eye!” he said gleefully.

 _Eggs. Fuckin’ eggs._ “You asked for it, honey.” He darted to the refrigerator, barely getting past Vincent. Reaching inside, he pulled out and uncapped the chocolate syrup. Cid held it around knee-height for a moment, then squeezed and slashed upward with it simultaneously. Within moments, Vincent had chocolate dripping from his body, head to toe.

 _Oh, how disgusting…_ Vincent thought as he smeared the syrup with his hand before bolting back to the table. He grabbed the flour container and was back at Cid before the man could react _, and this is when my cursed modifications are useful._  With a jerk, he tossed the contents into Cid’s face, and in a second, the pilot was engulfed in a cloud of flour as he coughed and waved his arms, the substance turning to paste where it hit the egg.

“Shit!” Cid grabbed the plate of meatballs he’d managed to finish before this…war…had started. He ducked under the table with them, chucking them at Vincent as he peeked around the edge. It was only temporary shelter, he knew, but it gave him time to plot. He let out a “hah!” of triumph when one hit Vincent’s shoulder and splattered messily. He just needed a catapult…

Dancing nimbly around _most_ of the meatballs, Vincent lunged and grabbed the diced tomatoes. He was a bit more prudent with them that Cid was with the meat, zinging small handfuls when he had a clean shot, and more than once diving and rolling in order to peg Cid in a vital part with the messy fruit. He chuckled, grinning devilishly when Cid stuck his head over the table to scowl at him and was hit with a handful.

Shaking off the fact that he was most indubitably losing, Cid gave up on the table when he ran out of ammo. He snatched the onion slices from the table, held firmly to the back of the plate, and flung the entire contents at Vincent, who was still laughing. Typical of someone so agile, he evaded most of the attack. “Dammit…” he tightened his grip on the one remaining meatball. “Hey, Vince,” he said, taking a few steps closer and lowering his eyes. “Got somethin’ t’tell ya,” he continued from a safe distance. In his haste, he forgot to actually wait for Vincent to react and just threw. It landed in the pot of boiling water, which was quite close to Vincent. “Shit!” Cid jumped at him, bringing him to the ground.

Vincent landed in a slimy, squishy pile of food and Cid. It was so unexpected he couldn’t prepare himself to absorb the impact and fall, and wound up hitting his head, hard on the ground. For a moment, his vision went white and a spike of pain shot through his skull causing him to cry out reflexively. Slowly the pain receded and his vision returned. Blinking rapidly he focused on Cid, then up at the pot of slowly boiling water. “Well…that was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it, Cid?” he rumbled. “A little boiling water, though painful, is not the end of the world.” He didn’t want to admit it, but having Cid lying on him, he found to be rather… _no. Not now._  “M-, Cid?” he said. He had, after all, made a promise of sorts. He waited for the pilot to acknowledge him by looking down at him with wide blue eyes. “…I…” he coughed, “I believe I am aroused.” He returned the stare levelly and could feel his cheeks heating up. Quickly he changed the subject. “And I am positively _disgusting_ , thank you.”

Cid couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. “Sorry,” he said, but it came out so low that he wasn’t sure Vincent even heard it. Trying to control his breathing and _not_ rub against Vincent at the same time was proving to be unnecessarily difficult. He allowed himself two small almost-thrusts, which, if asked, he would blame on shifting position trying to get up and allow Vincent to stand. He should not have even allowed himself that, because it wrenched a small groan from him before he was ready to fight it. “Vincent? I hafta kiss you right now. You know that, right?” He felt it was only fair to give a warning before something so major. “An’ you could never be disgustin’, ‘specially not with, uh, chocolate covered onions on yer face.” With that announcement out of the way, he lowered his head to Vincent’s and kissed him with no more force or depth than the one they’d shared the day before.

Vincent’s mind pinged back and forth between _NO!_ and _Yes. Oh, yes!_ when Cid’s lips met his own. In the end, his desire won out, and he cupped the back of Cid’s head, pulling the man into a deeper kiss. Tentatively he opened his mouth to the blond and slid his tongue over Cid’s lips, teasing them open so he could probe inside. A breathy moan escaped him as he tasted chocolate – Cid had been sneaking chocolate chips earlier that evening – and bourbon. Vincent’s kiss became more aggressive as he devoured the mouth above him, a tingling tightness causing a delicious, yearning burn in his groin. He pushed his pelvis up against Cid’s, rubbing his thigh in between the pilot’s legs. Suddenly he got a whiff of egg, and his mind snapped back.  _What am I doing? This is highly inappropriate!_  He pushed up on Cid’s shoulders, panting, “I-I can’t do this, Cid…I’m sorry…I mean, I…I need.” He studied Cid’s mouth, licked his lips, and murmured, “I really could use a shower.”

Gently –always gently- he resisted Vincent’s halfhearted protests and leaned down to kiss him again, this time swiping some of the chocolate with his tongue first. He brushed his tongue over Vincent’s lips until they opened for him again. He allowed himself finally to show a little aggression, something other than _gently_ , and kissed Vincent with such fervor that he knew immediately that if someone had kissed _him_ that way, he would probably have melted a little. Pulling back, he whispered, “Don’t run from this, Vincent. It scares you; I know that. But remember what we said? Never afraid with me, honey. An’ I know what you need right now, an’ I’ll give it to ya without takin’ anything in return, if you’ll trust me to do it.” One more look at Vincent’s conflicted face tugged at Cid’s heartstrings, and he sat back, giving Vincent enough space to stand if he wished. “M’sorry. I’m a pretty hypocrite, ain’t I? Tellin’ you not t’be scared an’ then pushin’ something like that on ya. Bathroom’s the open door over there,” he said, pointing, “an’ I’ll find somethin’ you can wear ‘til yours’re clean. But, uh, I don’t have anything black.” Standing, he reached for Vincent with one hand, eager to help him sit, stand, shower, or get off, so long as it meant more time with him, more contact. “One more kiss first?” he asked, having no idea what to expect in answer.

The second assault from Cid left Vincent dizzy, confused and painfully aroused, but this time he kept his lips firmly together. His body wanted everything Cid had said, and all that had gone implied. It _demanded_ more, but his brain was backpedaling so fast he was feeling lightheaded.  _You don’t do that to your friends,_ especially _when they trust you._   _Cid trusts me, and what do I do? Rub all over him like a beast in heat!_   _I don’t think I could find a hole_ deep _enough to crawl into to atone for this_. Vincent looked everywhere but at Cid’s face and when the man asked for another kiss, he tightened his lips together and gave a small shake of his head. “I-I can’t Cid…shower,” was all he could manage as he felt his face grow even hotter. Vincent carefully walked around the pilot, taking pains not to touch the man, and _fled_ to bathroom.

“Fuck,” Cid told the empty room. “Fuck!” Frustrated, he brought both hands to his face, not even registering the dried egg-paste. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to calm himself. When he felt stable enough, Cid went to the dresser and searched for clothes Vincent could wear. The only button-up shirt he could find was white, but there was a pair of black pants that had somehow survived his purge of the wardrobe some years earlier. He walked into the bathroom without knocking, not thinking. “Shit!” He clapped a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, Vin! Promise I ain’t peekin’. I’m just gonna set these down on the counter here, a’ right?” He was very tempted to see what he could see, but his honorable side prevented him from lifting his hand from his eyes until the door was safely closed. Cid retreated to the bedroom and proceeded to indulge in fantasy, certain that Vincent’s shower would take at least ten minutes.

Vincent had stood against the farthest wall in the bathroom with his arms wrapped around his waist after he had shut the door, breathing hard.  In fact, he was _still_ there when Cid just walked right into the bathroom then promptly smacked his hand over his eyes and then scooted out again like his ass was on fire. Vincent lowered his arms and looked at the ceiling as he tried to get himself back under control. He then slid to the ground and just sat there for several minutes, staring off into space as he replayed what had just happened in his mind. _I cannot be trusted if my body betrays me so readily_ , he finally concluded. Pushing himself off the tiled floor, he began to remove his clothing after briefly glancing in the mirror. He shuddered. He strongly disliked mirrors; not only did they show him his fake beauty, but he always saw shadows flitting to and away from him, darker ones hovered around his body and he knew them to be his demons…and then there were the wings…great, hideous bat-like wings, tattered and frayed. He turned completely away, but not before he threw his soiled shirt over it. Next came his leather pants, and finally he unwound his headscarf. He dropped the whole lot into a pile by the door before glancing at his left arm and its sheath. The thing was held onto his body by buckles and straps. Slowly he began to unfasten them. He would have to look at it, there was no way he could just ‘ignore’ it. Vincent kept his eyes tightly shut while he pulled the glove off, but he had already seen the red striated lesions running down his bicep to disappear into the gloved elbow. Finally the thing was off and he opened his eyes and looked. The sight of it always made him a little queasy, and he didn’t understand how something that looked like that didn’t hurt. The lesions ran the entire length of his arm, but beginning at the elbow the skin was mottled and scarred from stitch marks, burns and multiple needle tracks from where he had been hooked up to the machines. He also didn’t understand why it didn’t heal and the scars remained, but they did, a gruesome reminder of what had been done to him. He could see his veins under the surface where the skin was nearly translucent, and tendons were prominent on the backs of his hand while his fingers were not quite withered, but most certainly atrophied. It had taken a conscious effort for him to keep his hand in a ‘normal’ position for when he relaxed, his fingers tended to curl into claws resembling rigor mortis. His gauntlet had helped with that, which was why he never took it off until he had retrained the muscles of his hand to hold it in a certain shape. And through all the grotesque frailty of appearance, the appendage was just as strong as his “normal” hand, if not more so, augmented by something Hojo had inserted into his body or his blood. Vincent never found out, nor had he cared to. He fisted his destroyed hand and turned on the shower, stepping in before the water had a chance to warm. The combination of his arm and the cold water killed his arousal, and quickly and thoroughly he scrubbed off, using generous amounts of soap and shampoo. His mild surprise distracted him momentarily when he noticed that Cid had conditioner. He cocked his head frowning. He didn’t know why that surprised him but it did. Vincent squirted some into his hand and worked it into his hair. He gave a little sigh as he scratched his scalp, he had always liked that, then rinsed it out. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, snagging one of the large, soft towels as he did so and began to dry himself off. 

That done, he finger-combed his hair as best he could and put on the clean clothes.  _Okay, so Cid is a bit bigger than I am,_ he thought with amusement as the shirt hung off him in a formless lump rather resembling a bed sheet. The pants were not much better; besides being too short in the leg, they very nearly slid off his hips. _Now this won’t do_ , he thought and looked around the bathroom. His eyes landed on his dirty headscarf. He nodded, and, picking it up, he wound it around his waist and tied it off.  _Tacky,_ he thought, _but serviceable._  He picked up his dirty leathers and draped them over his left arm. He took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was beginning to push into his own hand with a ferver he had not felt for quite some time. In Cid’s fantasy, Vincent was lying beneath him, legs spread as he moved between them, so deep inside that he felt he might never be released. Vincent had already come, and Cid was close. A few more thrusts, and he climaxed, spilling ( _into Vincent_ ) over his hand and ( _whispered_ ) shouted his name into ( _his ear_ ) the air. Panting, spent- but not satisfied. Cid changed into some old work clothes that would hold him over until he got a chance to shower. After one last look at himself in the mirror, he stepped back into the hallway, intending to see Vincent out.

Vincent was walking down the hallway, nose buried in the collar of Cid’s shirt. His eyes were half closed in pleasure as he inhaled the smell of cigarette smoke, faint cologne and something else that was crisp and fresh and reminded him of the wind. He very nearly crashed into the pilot and pulled up sharply in surprise. “Cid!” He said, startled, mouth quirking when he saw the man’s ‘pasted’ face, but his smile quickly died when he looked into Cid’s eyes. He cleared his throat a little uneasily. “I believe I should begin cleaning the kitchen while you take your shower. After all, we _did_ make quite a mess.”

Cid shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t work here, I told you already. I’ll clean it up, Vin.” _Not like I’m gonna be able to sleep anyway._ Vincent looked nice in his clothes, Cid thought. Nice was as close as he could come to a description, because they seemed to fit him even though they didn’t fit. As he tried to puzzle that one out, he noticed that Vincent was still standing there. He smiled sadly, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, honey. I never meant t’make you uncomf’table.” Panic seized him for about two seconds before he reminded himself that whatever would be would be, and no one ever changed that by panicking. “You’ll still come back, won’t you?”

He was dumbfounded. “Y-you want me to come _back_? After the way I behaved? And Cid, I cannot leave without at least _helping_ you clean up, at least half of that mess in there I caused! If not more…” Vincent shook his head as he stared at Cid. “Please, let me help at least a little…” He noticed the sorrowful look on the blond’s face and tried to lighten the mood a bit and smiled. “Besides, you’ll feel much better after a shower. I do, and quite frankly…” he said, reaching up to pick a bit of egg shell from Cid’s hair, “…you are in desperate need of one.”

 _So if I don’t let ‘im help, he won’t leave? Damn, never mind. That ain’t no way to do this._ Cid smiled. “A’ right. I’ll go shower. But y’know what? We’d’a been smarter to clean it up first. Don’t you overdo yourself,” he warned, knowing that he would probably leave the bathroom and walk into a spotless kitchen anyway. “I’ll be right back out. And Vincent?” he continued, stopping and turning from the threshold of the bathroom, “I’ll always want you to come back. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all on me, honey.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute, but he smiled and nodded anyway, hoping that would placate Cid. After another brief hesitation, Cid walked into the bathroom and shut the door. With a small huff of determination, Vincent walked into the kitchen after first tossing his clothes to the side of the door and started rolling up his sleeves only to get a look at his left arm. Wincing, he returned to his clothes and started rummaging through them looking for his glove only to realize… _shit! I must have left it in the bathroom!_  He stood in front of the door in a moment of indecision before he swallowed his insecurity and made his decision, _I cannot leave all the work to Cid; that’s not fair._ Vincent turned back into the kitchen area, rolled up his sleeves and got to work. It took a moment to locate all the flung food that Cid had thrown – his own was piled neatly around a central location having hit its target every time – but after that is was quick work to wipe the floors up, and when Cid finally emerged from the bathroom, he was washing the last of the dishes.

Cid had noticed the glove immediately and wondered if he should bring it out. He decided to wait, mostly because he had the feeling that Vincent was so totally disgusted with his un-showered state that he wouldn’t want to see him again until he was clean. He did grab it on the way out, though, and sighed heavily when he saw the clean floors. He would have to tidy up the table, and he would help with the dishes if Vincent would let him. Looking down at the glove he held in both his hands, he walked toward Vincent, running his hands over the material and wondering only vaguely what it was meant to hide, knowing he wouldn’t ask. He knew Vincent could feel his presence, so he did not feel guilty over coming up behind him. He rested his right hand on Vincent’s right shoulder and presented the dropped garment to him with his left. “You keep washin’ an’ I’ll rinse?”

Vincent stiffened when Cid touched his shoulder then slumped in defeat. He had hoped to be finished before Cid came back out, but he wasn’t to be that lucky. “Just toss it by the door if you would be so kind, please? It wouldn’t do to put it on now anyway, so you might as well see it.” He said softly, arms still elbows-deep in soapy water. As Cid walked over to the pile of clothes, Vincent rinsed and turned around, leaning back against the sink as he waited for Cid to come back. _I said I trusted him; now we’ll see how he really feels when he sees the truth…_

Now that he knew Vincent was going to share this with him, Cid wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. He did, of course, but then it would be over and there would be less of a barrier between them. And yes, that was what he wanted, but now that the moment was here, it seemed sudden and almost anticlimactic, though he wasn’t sure how he would have preferred it to happen. He draped the thing carefully over the pile of black, noticing the lack of deep red and noting that Vincent’s headscarf had many uses. That proved to be another dangerous subject; his mind was busy finding more interesting uses for it than holding up too-large pants. He turned around and walked back slowly, mentally bracing himself for whatever was about to pass between them, and already plotting a way to lighten the mood when it was done. He knew Vincent would likely “go all morbid” and become unreachable, and he didn’t think it was worth it to share this if it would put distance between them. Suddenly he looked back at his thoughts, realized that he really had no idea what he wanted, and came to the conclusion that he was simply thinking too much. Before he knew it, he was standing a few steps away from Vincent, who seemed to be looking at everything but him. “Hey. Not gonna change a thing, you hear me?” His hand lifted to cup Vincent’s cheek, but he thought better of it and let it fall, waiting for the gunman to make the next move.

Vincent took a deep breath and held it, before meeting Cid’s sky-blue gaze. His sleeve had slid down his arm as it had hung by his side and he had made no move to stop it, so his arm remained hidden from view. He wondered if this was some cosmic message saying that it should remain that way, but in his gut, he knew that to be a lie. If he couldn’t trust his friend with this then whom _could_ he trust? “Never in my life have I ever thought that something so evil could exist to do this to another human being. But I have been proven wrong and now that darkness hides within me. No…do not say it, Cid. It wouldn’t change the truth, no matter how you tried to soften it. I fight with it every day, but my biggest fear is that one day I won’t be strong enough to hold it off any longer, that it will consume me. If I had a soul it would be whittled away a sliver at a time by what I have to bear.” He blinked slowly and swallowed. “I _want_ to share this part of me with you, then perhaps I will remain strong enough a little longer. You are my friend, Cid, and I hold that above all else…remember that, and _then_ judge me.” Slowly he moved for his sleeve, hesitated, and then began rolling it up his arm.

Finally Cid realized how he needed to handle this. He caught Vincent’s hand and set it aside, taking over the job of exposing the arm. His fingers ghosted along it as he went, lingering on some of the more affected areas. “You know I’m nothin’ but a coward, Vin? There’s a part o’ me still wants to run back to Rocket Town and take no part in this. Shit, screw that, I wanna run back _home_. I fight with it every day.” He turned his scrutinizing, sympathetic gaze on Vincent’s face, happily surprised to again catch his eyes. “When we’re done with this, I don’t think I’m ever gonna fight again. I’m tired of it. You don’t even know how strong you are, do ya? You have more to fight than anybody, an’ more reason to wanna just hide somewhere. But you’re done with that. You moved on, an’ I don’t think you wanna go back to it. Let everyone else judge you, Vincent. I’m damn proud of ya.” He lifted the scarred, trembling hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, leaving his eyes in contact with the red ones he couldn’t read.

Vincent closed his eyes and let Cid’s words run over him like a balm. He drew a shaky breath and unexpectedly felt his eyes burn. _Not now!_   _Emotional, insecure, tortured, broken…what is there to be proud of, Cid?_ He opened his eyes again and his voice came out sounding a little more hollow than he actually felt, “I’m jealous of you, Cid, did you know that?” He sagged a little more, as though burdened by a heavy weight. Perhaps he was. “You have the option of not fighting. It can _be_ over for you. But not for me. Never, _ever_ will it end.” He suddenly felt exhausted and leaned forward into Cid’s surprised arms. He wrapped his own around the pilot’s waist and rested his head on the broad, warm shoulder. He felt safe here like this, being held. He shut his eyes and continued, “Did you know I can see them…in the mirror? And others…shadows, ghosting around me, hiding and hovering.” He laughed softly, “…And I have wings…my other self. ” He rubbed his cheek on Cid’s shoulder and gave a little sigh _. Who knew it would feel so good to be held?_

Vincent would have been surprised to know that he made Cid feel safe, too. Cid put his arms around Vincent, bringing his hands up, in fists, to rest between his shoulder blades. That left them very close together, and kept Cid’s hands from wandering as they wished to. Without his boots, Vincent was lacking a surprising amount of height, which made this much more comfortable. “Do any of us really have that option, Vince? I’m nothin’ t’be jealous of. Shit, if I didn’t know how much you hurt for it, I’d be jealous o’ you, ‘cause you at least can see your darkness, your demons.” He turned his head so that his lips brushed Vincent’s ear. The dark hair in his face smelled wrong, but nice, like the clothes. “If I could end all your sufferin’ for you, honey, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Cid knew what it would take in order for that to happen; knew that Vincent could never find complete peace in life. He also knew that if they ever found a way, and if Vincent ever asked, he would help him end his life. It was a morbid thought, and not one Cid really wanted to ponder, but it helped somehow to know that. He loved him, and that was key. If he thought about it, he had come to love all these people, even the brat, but he was not sure he would go to such lengths for any of them. He was surprised to find his hands opened and moving up and down Vincent’s back. He let one go lower purely to satisfy his imagination, stopping it just before it reached what he knew would be a wonderful, perfect… _no, Highwind,_ his mind said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Vincent’s. Unable to help himself, he pulled back slightly and nudged the head off his shoulder, wanting to at least get another kiss before the night ended. “Can I, Vin?”

The hands were soothing, more soothing than the voice, and infinitely more so than the words. Vincent’s eyes were closed and his mind was empty, so when Cid nudged his head off his shoulder it took him a minute to catch on to what Cid was asking for. As the pilot leaned in, he drifted to the side and kissed the man’s cheek by his mouth instead. Pressing his forehead against Cid’s he whispered, “I shall suffer in my punishment; that is my fate. I have accepted this, Cid, and so shall not speak of it again. Even _your_ heart is not big enough to save me from it, but perhaps it may help give me strength. I am glad you are my friend, Cid. I am glad I am not alone.” He remained like that with Cid for a while longer, neither one moving, arms around the other until he pulled back and offered to help finish cleaning. He wasn’t entirely surprised when Cid vehemently denied his request and began shuttling him to the door. He was a bit saddened, not really _wanting_ to go, but knowing that it was for the best. Rolling down his sleeve, he picked up his clothes, surreptitiously slipped the block of wood inside them and with one last lingering, searching look into Cid’s face, turned away. He never looked back.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening after dinner, garbed in his borrowed clothes, Vincent had taken his prize and locked himself away in his quarters. He wasn’t coming out until his little project for Cid was done. It was even _more_ important now that he do this after what had just happened back in the pilot’s quarters. He dumped his soiled leathers in a corner – they were already dry, so letting them sit wouldn’t matter – and crossed over to the bed and sat down. Picking up his gauntlet, he first examined the sharpness of the bladed parts of each clawed digit and upon finding them more than adequate, he put it back on his hand and arm. Scooting back on the bed to rest his back against the wall and catch the dying rays of the sun, Vincent turned the block of wood over and over as he contemplated the best way to begin. He finally decided upon focusing on bringing out a rough shape of the object, rather than on just one part at a time.  _Hm, how hard could this be?_ He thought idly as the first sliver of wood came easily off of the block. 

 _Very hard_ , Vincent would come to find out, as two hours of working at it left him with badly cut fingers, bloodstained clothes (he would have to replace them), dull blades, and _extreme_ frustration. And on top of that, adding insult to multiple injuries, the damned block still looked mostly like a…well, block! He was rapidly acquiring a deep respect for carvers. But he was nothing if not persistent, determined and a quick learner with his own stubborn streak. He was just getting the hang of it when his blades _finally_ became too dull to use anymore. It was just as well; he was running out of good usable light anyway. Putting the wood on the nightstand, Vincent stood up and stretched. He needed to get to the workshop in the engine room. Cid had a grinder there he could use, but he also didn’t want to run into anyone on the way. He blew at his hair, which had finally dried and fallen into his face…again, before huffing and unwrapping his head scarf from around his waist – where it had held his pants up – and used it to tie his hair back in a shaggy tail.  _There, that’s better_. He sighed, _now to find that grinder_. Carefully opening the door to his quarters, Vincent stuck his head out and looked up and down the halls. It was dark and most should be sleeping – Cid ran the _Highwind_ on a skeleton crew at night – but Cloud had a tendency to be unable to sleep, a fact that he could sympathize with because he himself never slept- for obvious reasons, besides the fact that sleep was unnecessary for him now. Vincent moved as quickly as he could, taking seconds where it would take others minutes. He had to grudgingly admit that his modifications had some pretty nifty tricks. 

In short order, he arrived at the noisy engine room, and with a quick look around, he slipped inside. He had no trouble locating the workshop area and the grinder. He turned the machine on and got to work. Vincent enjoyed the physical labor involved, and the precision it took to sharpen the blades on his gauntlet, taking an odd delight in the shower of sparks the machine sent up as the metal of the claws connected with the spinning stone wheel. When he finally determined the edges sharp enough, he shut down the grinder and exited the engine room. He kept to the shadows as he crept back to his quarters and was very nearly there when he heard a voice mumbling up ahead. Carefully, he inched forward until he could see who was walking in the corridor ahead of him. He was surprised to see Cid, of all people, his hair in wild disarray and clothes badly rumpled as though he had had trouble sleeping. Vincent frowned. Come to think of it, Cid had been looking exhausted lately, and he had a sinking feeling it was because of him.  _Oh Cid, don’t break yourself because of me. I’m not worth it_. He thought sadly as he watched Cid stop in front of what he now realized was _his_ door. The blond just stood there, staring at the door, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips before he placed his splayed hand on it as though by doing so would let him see into the room. Vincent felt that queer sensation in his belly again, and _almost_ stepped forward to say something, but stopped when he saw Cid throw up his hands and walk off down the hall mumbling to himself again while puffing furiously on his cigarette and running fingers through already badly disheveled blond hair. Vincent remained where he was for a few more minutes before slinking out of the shadows he was hiding in and back into his quarters, quietly shutting the door behind him. He gazed at his block of now oddly shaped wood and felt a new determination take hold. 

Gathering the two lamps that were in his room, Vincent lit them and placed them next to his bed where he was working. He picked up the block of wood and once again got to work. He hadn’t been working for more than a half-hour before he smelled cigarette smoke. Pausing, he looked at his door and belatedly realized that he had been smelling smoke for so long that he had gotten used to it, which meant that Cid had been frequenting his door.  _This is why you are so tired, isn’t it?_ What _are you thinking, Cid?_ He thought, before his deep, quiet voice called out, “Go to bed, Cid.” There was a soft, muffled curse before the smell dissipated once more. He went back to his work and when he finally got the wood into a finished shape, the lamps had burned out, the blades on his claws were dull once more, and the sun was in the middle of the sky. He could hear movement and voices in the corridors so he dared not venture to the engine room and the grinder again, so he decided to clean his leathers. Gathering the whole mess into his arms, he settled himself in the bathroom. It was a sticky, disgusting mess, which took him the rest of the day, but the leather was well-conditioned and fairly resistant to liquid, and he managed to get them clean. When he hung them up to finish drying (head scarf included, much to his irritation) the sun was gone and it was time to go to the engine room once more. The sharpening went much more quickly this time, and on his way out, he snagged some sandpaper he saw sitting out, and once again shut himself back into his room. 

He had achieved the shape he was striving for and he carefully sanded it smooth. Now it was time for detail and for that he would need to use his right hand; ambidextrous though he was, his right was his favored hand. Vincent closed his eyes and summoned the image he was striving to re-create and he studied it behind his lids. Then, a single digit held firmly but carefully between his fingers and thumb, he began to give his shaped wood an identity. It went slowly at first, painfully, actually, when the blade glanced off the wood and impaled his palm – that had hurt – but as he became more comfortable, the work proceeded more quickly. Finally he finished, the piece satisfying him. It wasn’t very good actually, as such things went, but one could tell what it was supposed to be without having to squint and tilt his head just so. But the detail was exquisite and he _was_ rather proud of that. With a nod, he turned it over and scratched his tiny initials on the bottom then rose and removed his ruined clothes. His leathers had dried while he had worked, and it was with an immense relief that he once again clothed himself in his own attire. It was early morning, but late enough that Vincent knew that Cid would be at the helm, so he exited his room, made his way to the Captain’s Quarters, and carefully let himself in. He paused just inside and door and reached out with his senses to find the space deserted. He walked over and placed the small carving of the Tiny Bronco next to Cid’s teapot where he knew the pilot would find it, and turned to leave. He paused and on second thought, did a quick search and located a piece of scratch paper and a much-abused pencil and scrawled:  _Thank You -V_. And with one last look around the rooms he had begun to unconsciously call _home_ , Vincent left and made a unerring line for the decks. After the day and nights he had just had – his hands _still_ hurt – he _needed_ to be outside and away from the cage of four walls.


	5. Touch Me, Touch You

_Shouldn’t’a done it. M’a fuckin’ asshole. He didn’t want that an’ I knew it, an’ I kept pushin’. He just ain’t been that close to nobody. Stupid-ass idiot, s’all I am. Won’t ‘e even let me explain? Shit, no. He still thinks it’s his fault. Still thinks he did somethin’ wrong. Idiot. I’ll show ‘im._ “I’ll show ‘im, all right.” Cid hardly noticed the odd looks his pilot-in-training was shooting him, nor was he aware that he had spoken aloud once or twice. Especially since he knew Vincent knew he was visiting. He couldn’t understand why suddenly he wasn’t good enough to talk to. Taking notice of the trainee, he turned to the poor man and said conversationally, “Why the hell won’t ‘e talk to me? What’d I do wrong?” He didn’t want this to be over. That would be too cruel. It was all so much more than he’d ever thought he would get, but not nearly all he wished for. Sighing, he headed back to his rooms. Upon opening the door, he found a small, quick note and…a block of wood. _Great, just what I needed. Oh, wait…_ Cid’s grin, which had been absent from his face for nearly two days now, returned with a vengeance. _Oh, Vincent, you sneaky bastard._ He lifted the gift from its place on the table and held it next to the picture of the pink plane for comparison. After about thirty seconds, he tossed the picture, still in its frame, into the garbage can and set up the carving in its place. Pocketing the note and a pen, he left his quarters for another trip to Vincent’s room. Cid pinned the note facedown to Vincent’s door, with his own “thank you” in much less elegant hand scribbled on the back, along with an invitation to dinner that evening.

He hadn’t seen Cid all day, and that worried him. _Perhaps I offended him more than I thought. He said he didn’t care about my arm, but he- he is a kind person, maybe he was just being that._ Vincent was leaning against a bracing strut – funny the action those struts had seen in the last week – and looking out at the horizon. His thoughts turned toward the future. _I wonder if all of this will still be here, if we’ll be successful. Hmph, I never noticed how beautiful it all was until now…now that it mattered._

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to travel, but now that I have, and we’ve fought so much, all I want now is to just stay still. Funny, don’t you think?” 

Vincent hadn’t realized that he’d been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that Tifa had had no trouble sneaking up on him. He spared her a quick glance and replied, “Yes, it is lovely.” He could feel the slender fighter still looking at him, and he realized that she was expecting more. At a loss he said, “I have stayed still for too long, I would like to keep moving.” 

Tifa laughed- a warm, bright sound- and flicked her long brown hair over her shoulder. “I can imagine you would feel like that.” She leaned forward and rested her arms on the railing, following Vincent’s gaze. “But I’ve also come to realize something. I could settle down and stop moving, but I’d become restless again. You know why? Because I wouldn’t have my friends around me. Home is where you make it, with _whom_ you make it. We don’t get to choose our family, but we get to choose our friends. Those friends then become the family we’ve always wanted, deep down in our hearts.” She sighed and looked back at him. “Cloud wants to speak with us tomorrow. As we haven’t seen you to tell you, I thought I would now.” 

Vincent glanced down at the young woman and studied her smiling face. She was lovely and so very kind; he realized suddenly that he did care for her, for all of them – even the exhausting, scatterbrained, and obsessive Yuffie. They had somehow become his friends, and he cared about what happened to them. “Thank you, Tifa. I will be there.” She beamed at him again and returned to inside the _Highwind._ He sighed and glanced up at the sun. It was getting close to dinnertime and Cid hadn’t said anything, maybe he didn’t want him around anymore. Vincent turned and began to slowly make his way back to his quarters. _Family, home, friends…it is strange how important those words become when they begin to mean something._ He arrived at his door and pulled up sharply when he noticed the paper stuck to it with…chewing gum? _Oh, that is just…gross,_ he thought as he pulled it off with a gloved thumb and forefinger. He squinted at the scrawled ‘thank you’ and invitation to dinner and found himself smiling in anticipation; Cid wanted him to come back. That warmed him, and though he was a bit early (he hoped Cid wouldn’t mind) he began walking towards the Captain’s Quarters. As he walked up to the cabin, a rich and spicy scent came wafting out from under the closed door. He hesitated a moment, worried, when he noticed the door was in fact closed when it had always been open before, but he tried to shrug it off as he raised his fist and knocked.

Cid jumped when he heard the knocking. Glancing at the clock, he determined that the visitor must be Vincent. He smiled and turned down the fire so their meal wouldn’t burn before wiping his hands and going to the door to meet Vincent. “Hey, Vince! Wasn’t sure you’d come. M’glad y’re here. Sorry ‘bout the door. Hadda close it t’keep the damn ‘princess’ out. Wanted t’know what I was cookin’ an’ could she have some. Like hell I’m gonna feed that brat!” He stepped back to allow Vincent into the room and held out his arm. “Lemme take that, Vin?” he asked, gesturing at the cape Vincent had for some reason chosen to bring along this time. _Some kind o’ safety blanket or somethin’, maybe_. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and began to unbuckle his mantle. He pulled it off his shoulders. He handed it to Cid and began to unbuckle his gauntlet as well. He wouldn’t need it tonight. He snorted as he thought of what the weapon had just been used for and vowed to _never_ do that again. He winced when an edge of metal scraped a tender spot on his hand. He then removed his right glove – exposing multiple angry red welts – and placed both on the floor by the door. He sniffed again. “That is an intriguing smell, Cid. What are you cooking?”

“ _That’s_ a surprise. An’ I gotta get back to it ‘fore it burns.” He pointed at Vincent’s gift in its new designated place and smiled. “Y’did a good job with that, Vincent. Thanks, again. Come on an’ sit in the kitchen with me, hm?” He pulled out a chair for his guest as he walked past the table, patting the back of it. “So,” Cid continued, stirring the food a bit, “you heard Cloud wants t’talk to us tomorra? I think it’s gettin’ close to time.” He placed the lid on the pan, seeing that all it needed was a bit of simmering, and sat in the chair next to Vincent’s. “I ain’t scared anymore,” he said, idly twiddling his fingers on the table. He tried to ignore the new wounds on Vincent’s hand, having a feeling that he knew their origins.

Vincent smiled. “Not afraid anymore? So what inspired this new confidence and chased that fear away? Because I do not share it.” He noticed Cid trying not to notice his hand and put both into his lap, out of sight with a, “They’ll be fine in the morning.” He looked around, grasping at something to change the subject with and his eyes lit upon the steaming pot. “’Surprise’, accompanying ‘food’ in the same sentence. Now why does that concern me?”

Cid grinned. “Aw, come on, trust me on this one. It’s one o’ my favorites.” He wasn’t sure how to go about answering the first question; he did not know himself what had led him to abandon his fear. “I guess I figure… _que sera, sera_. That’s as good a reason as any, right? I mean, we can do all we can, but in the end, we’ll never know if we really changed anything or not. You get what I’m sayin’? ‘Cause I don’t.” He laughed shakily. “I dunno, really. I just know I feel better about it all now than I did couple days back.” He glanced at the stove and hurried to turn off the flame. He knew from experience that a few seconds could make a drastic difference in the quality of food, and he wanted nothing but the best for Vincent. He whisked two plates from the cabinet and served them three legs each, along with a generous helping of the onions and sauce fried with it. Once he had delivered their plates to the table, he removed a pan filled with soft rolls and set that in the center of the table. He followed this by pouring them each a glass of the aromatic white wine he’d saved for just such a meal.

“Hm,” was all Vincent replied. He picked up his wine and sniffed the bouquet.  _Very nice_ , he thought raising an eyebrow. Cid had surprised him yet again with the quality of the wine.  _It’s funny how smells can recall the dimmest memories,_ he mused, and took a sip of the wine, savoring the flavor before swallowing. He set down his wine, picked up a piece of bread, and began tearing off small pieces, chewing the warm, sweet bread thoughtfully. “I worry about you, Cid. Are you getting enough sleep? You have been looking tired lately.” He waited politely for Cid to take a bite of…well… “You know I have to ask. What is this? I have never seen anything quite like it before.”

He had no idea how Vincent would react to finding out what he was…pointedly avoiding eating. As for Cid, he was chomping happily away at the Touch Me leg and watching the bread disappear. “Well…give it a taste, huh? I’m eatin’ it, ain’t I? An’ clearly I have a taste fer quality.” He gestured at the glass in Vincent’s hand. “Yeah, I been findin’ it a little hard t’sleep, but I’ll be all right. S’just…” he trailed off, shrugging. “But like I said, I’ll be okay.” He reached for one of the rolls and reveled in the way its soft, mild taste balanced the spiciness of the meat. He realized he had forgotten the butter, and stood up rather abruptly before realizing that was rude. “Sorry,” he said, and held up a hand. “Just forgot somethin’.” Within a minute, the tub of butter and a knife to spread it were occupying space next to the buns. “You tried that yet?” he asked, poking Vincent in the shoulder.

Vincent sighed and rolled his eyes when Cid poked him. If anyone else had done that, they would most likely of been nursing some sort of bodily injury. He picked up his fork and knife and fastidiously cut off a bit of the tender-looking meat. He dipped it into the sauce, and without testing it first – trusting Cid to be telling him the truth – put it into his mouth. He chewed, rolling the meat around with his tongue. The sauce had bite to it that he certainly approved of. He swallowed and was beginning to cut off more meat when he stiffened. The sauce not only had _bite_ , it had _bite force_ , as his mouth continued to heat to a painful level. He put his silverware down and wrapped his hand around his throat as his eyes began to water. “Ci-“ he tried but his throat had closed off. “Cid, is this food supposed to _hurt_?” He gasped as he reached for his wine.  _Mistake_ …the slightly sharp taste of the wine only made his mouth sting more. Vincent could swear that he felt his tongue swelling. He began to sweat and looked at Cid in rising panic.

Cid tried not to laugh. “Aw, honey, ain’t you ever had spicy food before? Here.” He broke off a piece of bread and more or less stuffed it into Vincent’s mouth. “Chew on that a minute. Gotta balance it out, Vin, or- shit, I’m sorry. The, uh, the extra sauce wasn’t really fer the meat. Guess I coulda told you that, huh? Here, splash my drink in m’face or somethin’,” he offered, pushing his glass in that direction. He began rubbing slow circles on Vincent’s back when he realized his friend was still uncomfortable. Personally, Cid believed that a back rub could solve most issues. “Better?” he asked after a while, hoping he hadn’t messed up again. “Y’don’t hafta eat any more, if you don’t want to. But then, you don’t really need me t’tell y’that either, do ya?” He removed his hand and went back to eating, watching from the corner of his eye to see if Vincent gave the dish another chance.

Vincent glared at Cid’s repressed amusement at his discomfort, defiantly shoving another piece of bread into his mouth. He should just forgo eating the rest of the night, but damn it all, he didn’t want to hurt the big idiot’s feelings – or consent defeat to _food_ of all things – and picked up his fork and knife again. His mouth still hurt, but he tried the meat again, this time wiping off _all_ the sauce. What he _could_ taste was a slightly sweet, juicy white meat that reminded him of the chicken he had had several nights ago. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. He leveled an un-amused stare on his friend and said, “You do realize that I will never trust you with food again, don’t you?” He asked, his voice hoarse and choked. Sullenly he grabbed the second to last piece of bread, leaving the last one for Cid – he’d already had more than his fair share anyway – and took a bite of it. “So are you going to tell me what kind of meat this is? Clearly it is not chicken, and yet its flavor, from what I can taste, seems to resemble it.”

Cid laughed then, unable to hold back. Vincent was acting like a child. “Yeah, I guess I might as well.” Scratching the back of his head and looking sheepish, he said, “Well, you remember how we went to Gongaga couple days back? Eh, y’might not. I think you’d locked yerself in. Anyway…well, you know Gongaga. We ran into a bunch o’ Touch Me monsters, an’…y’know, they’re a delicacy in some places. Figured I’d give makin’ it m’self a try. I don’t think it turned out half bad.” As if to prove his point, he dug into the meat remaining on his plate, not a bit fazed by the intense spice. “But I guess I won’t try to make you eat anything else o’ mine. You’ve earned yerself freedom on that one, certainly.” He refilled Vincent’s glass, along with his own, more from habit than any real need do it. “You can have that last roll. I got enough here fer me.” _I’ll get it right one day._

Vincent choked on his bread. “I’m eating _Touch Me Frog_? Cid, those are _poisonous_!” It occurred to him too late that poison really wouldn’t have any lasting effect on him anyway, but still! He sighed and closed his eyes. How did this man have such a _draining_ effect on him? He picked up his full wine glass again and inelegantly downed half of it before – at Cid’s insistence – taking the last roll.  _Quit being such a baby, Valentine, and talk to the man, or he’s going to guilt himself to death._  “Cid, as painful as it is to admit this…I do enjoy having dinner with you, and you are a rather good cook. Now…” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He hooked the elbow of the arm holding the wine glass over the back of the chair. “How about you tell me something about yourself that you have not told anyone else. I believe you owe me,” he said, grinning lazily and slowly blinking his eyes.

He laughed again. “Honey, they ain’t _poisonous_ , just…” he waved his hand in a vague gesture, “magical. You turned into a frog yet? Nope. Have I? Nope. Even the magic wears off once they’re dead.” He shifted his chair, allowing him to eat over his plate and look at Vincent at the same time. He grumbled for a bit over the suggestion that he spill something personal about himself. “Lessee…heh, this is harder’n it should be. Somethin’ I ain’t told nobody else, huh?” Cid scooted his chair back a bit before lifting one foot to rest on the table and putting his hands behind his head (his usual ‘thinking’ position) before realizing that he had company and that feet were generally believed to _not_ belong on the table. “Well, was one time –think I was about fifteen- this guy moved in down the street. Hottest thing you ever saw, ‘cept me o’ course. Naturally, he wasn’t int’rested, but that didn’t put me off. I, uh…well, shit, here goes. S’damn embarrassin’, lookin’ back on it. There was a tree outside ‘is window, right? Used t’hide in there an’ watch ‘im sometimes. I think ‘e figured out I was there after a while, but he never said anything an’ I didn’t either.” Cid laughed nervously. “I regret it now, o’ course. Wastin’ my time on ‘im, I mean. I didn’t see anything I didn’t like.” He flashed a grin, realized again what a creepy kid he’d been, and refilled his glass a third time.

Vincent had raised an eyebrow when Cid had thunked a dirty, booted foot on the table…where their _food_ was…but said nothing. He was, however – at that second – _quite_ finished eating. “So you are saying that you are a … voyeur?” He said bringing his unoccupied left hand up to rest on the table, unconsciously tapping with his gloved index finger. He nodded. “Makes sense actually, nor does it surprise me.”

It was Cid’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Doesn’t surprise you? So I come off as some kind o’ pervert? Oh, that’s just great,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands dramatically, peeking out from between his fingers. “Thought it was normal, though. In the movies, guys used ta watch the girls they liked through their windas. Figured I could do the same thing. I ain’t made a _habit_ of it,” he whined, uncomfortable with Vincent’s diagnosis. “I wouldn’t call m’self that, no.” Considering the words, he whined again, “Whaddaya _mean_ , it doesn’t surprise ya?”

Vincent snorted as Cid hid behind his hands. _Oh do stop being so childish, Cid_. But when Cid started to _whine_ , as he grew more uncomfortable, both of Vincent’s eyebrows slowly rose, he felt, nearly to his hairline and he began to chuckle then outright laugh. Finally, though still chuckling, Vincent rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh Cid, you really should see your face. It doesn’t surprise me because you are just persistent enough to _do_ something like that when you set your mind to something that you want.” He set his empty wine glass back on the table then leaned forward to rest on his elbows as he watched the pilot’s crestfallen face. "Though I believe you have learned a bit of restraint now that you are... older.”

Cid would probably have gone on worrying about out, but Vincent’s laughter made up for it. He decided against refilling either of their glasses again, because he found himself growing hopelessly sentimental- the main thought in his head at the moment was along the lines of _it don’t matter if we all die as long as I get to hear ‘im laugh again,_ and that was utterly ridiculous. He focused instead on the care with which Vincent had chosen his last words. He snorted. “Older, but no more mature, huh? That what y’re sayin’?” He prodded Vincent again, aware that he was treading on thin ice. “Let’s see…what else? I used’a feed my vegetables t’the dog, but Momma prob’ly knew that. Y’ll hafta meet her someday, Vin, if we get outta this. An’ we will, I think.” Cid was getting sleepy. Vincent was right; he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Now that he knew Vincent wasn’t upset, sleep would probably come more easily. He just wasn’t ready for Vincent to leave yet. Yawning widely, Cid stood and began collecting dishes. “Sorry I don’t have any-” another yawn “-dessert. Forgot to get ice cream again.” Once the excess food was disposed of and the dishes were set to soak in the sink, Cid headed for the couch and motioned for Vincent to follow him.

_Poor Cid_ , Vincent thought as he watched the blond yawn repeatedly. He stood and followed Cid into the sitting area and cocked his head worriedly when the pilot flopped down heavily on the couch. “You’re not sleeping here are you? You should be in bed. Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep? I mean, I can see myself out, Cid.” He really didn’t want to leave yet and was looking for any excuse to linger. Besides, he wanted to make sure Cid got some sleep; especially since they were nearing the day they were to confront Sephiroth.

Cid waved a hand at Vincent, which could have been a cue either to shut up or simply to tell him not to worry. “I’m’a go t’bed, Vin, don’t worry ‘bout me. Just…not yet. Come sit with me, honey,” he invited, patting the cushion heavily. “So, you really tellin’ me you never spied on the neighbor’s daughter or nothin’ like that?” He had a hard time believing that. Sure, Vincent was more…noble than most men, but even he must have been a teenager once. "What'd you do when you liked somebody, then?" Cid asked, as if there really was no other answer.

Vincent sat down next to Cid and didn’t protest when the pilot slumped against him and actually encouraged Cid to rest his head on his shoulder by wrapping his arm around the blond’s shoulders. “Hmph, I didn’t go hanging around in trees for one thing. Let’s see…” Vincent settled himself more comfortably and grew thoughtful. “I didn’t have many love interests, but there is one who comes to mind in light of your little confession. I was young, barely more than a rookie, and there was a young man who didn’t ‘swing that way’. I don’t remember much about him really other than his eyes. He had such shocking blue eyes and red hair, I think his name was Sinclair…St. Clair, something like that, but it’s not important anyway. I fancied myself in love with him, and I’d follow him around like a lovesick puppy, always being where he was, trying to get partnered with him. Small surprise he didn’t have some sort of restraining order against me, as I imagine I was rather…creepy.” He chuckled. “I believe he was my first crush, although we were barely more than children. I think I have a thing for blue eyes, actually.” He admitted as an afterthought. “My first had blue eyes as well.” By this time he had rested his cheek on the top of Cid’s head as he tried to picture the man who had been his first time. “So you see, you are not the only ‘pervert’ as you so inelegantly put it. I was a ‘stalker’.” He chuckled again. “I wonder whatever happened to him…”

Though he would have done a mental victory dance at those words, Cid did not hear them. He had fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow- Vincent’s shoulder, in this case. He snuggled deeper into the warmth, holding tight. The peace was not to last- Cid let loose an almighty roar of a snore, enough to make himself jump in his sleep and wake up looking for the offender. He looked up sheepishly into the patient but annoyed face of Vincent. “M’sorry,” he mumbled, “but y’know I always fall asleep when people start…y’know, talkin’.” He made another indistinct gesture before slumping against Vincent again. “Guess I better go t’bed, huh? Don’t wanna,” he pouted, then realized that he probably was not impressing Vincent with his childishness. “Thanks again for comin’, Vincent. You’re welcome anytime, you hear me? I don’t care if it’s three in the mornin’ an’ you just feel like havin’ company. You let yerself in an’ make yerself at home, always. ‘Kay?” He squeezed Vincent’s hand once. “’Night, kid. See you in the mornin’.”  


Vincent flattened his lips in annoyance at the fact that Cid had not paid any attention to what he had been saying, but on the other hand, the poor man was exhausted. Vincent sat there for a moment thinking about Cid’s deplorable lack of manners and a slow grin spread over his face. Propping the – now heavily snoring – pilot up, Vincent rummaged around in the drawer of the end table and struck gold. A permanent marker. Grinning evilly, he turned back around and eyed Cid, whose mouth had now fallen open with drool beginning to run out of the corner of it. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but squashed that in favor of his inner child. Straddling Cid’s lap with his hips against the blond’s to keep from tumbling off backwards, Vincent straightened the man’s face on the cushions, freezing when Cid gave a great snort then resumed snoring, and very carefully drew an elaborate – and garishly tacky – mustache. That done, Vincent climbed off Cid, replaced the marker and effortlessly picked up the pilot, bridal-style (a good thing the man was unconscious in the face of this affront to his masculinity), to carry him into the bedroom and tuck him in. He stood there looking down at Cid and smiling softly, then leaned down and kissed the man’s forehead. “Goodnight, Cid. I hope your dreams are better than mine.” And with that, Vincent quietly gathered up his glove, gauntlet and mantle and left the Captain’s Quarters to make his rather reluctant way back to his own, to await the coming morning.  


Cid slept on, oblivious to all that happened. When he woke the next morning, he blinked rapidly, trying to figure out how he had gotten here. He remembered falling asleep on the couch…no, on Vincent. So Vincent must have carried him. He smiled, thinking that he almost remembered being kissed. Stretching, he stood and headed for the bathroom. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he took a look in the mirror and frowned as he tried to rub away that odd stain above his lip for nearly a full minute before he realized what it was. “Damn it, Vincent!” he laughed, and reached for the soap.


	6. When All Is Revealed

They had all met as Cloud had requested, on the bridge, and the mood was a somber one. Vincent had hung back, half in the shadows, and arms crossed over his chest. He had watched Cloud, emotionless and cold, not even looking over at Cid who appeared to be just as sober.  _We’re all fighting for ourselves_ , Vincent thought, echoing Cloud’s words _. That seems like such an empty and selfish reason, but it’s true, isn’t it?_  They all stood around for a moment more before drifting off to go their separate ways. Vincent found himself wandering out onto the deck again, feeling very lonely and very reluctant to think about the future, so his never idle mind zeroed in on the past…

_Find your reasons for fighting_ , Cloud had told them. Cid had his reason, but did not know how to reach him. He knew where he would be, of course, but had no idea if he would be allowed to speak with him today. He wanted to take the chance; to go to him and hold him, promise it would be okay, and all those other things a lover would do. Vincent didn’t want a lover; he wanted a friend. Cid was sure he could do that, if he really applied himself. But… he didn’t _want_ to apply himself. It was selfish, he knew, but he couldn’t help what he wanted. Ending the debate quickly (and unfairly), he retreated to his rooms to brood over any stray topic he could catch. If Vincent wanted to see him, he could come here. He sat on his couch with his arms crossed and his toes tapping for all of five minutes before sighing heavily and heading for the deck.

Her apology swam around in his mind, echoing meaninglessly and giving way to pain and Hojo’s laughter. A slow anger was lit in his belly when he thought of all that deranged lunatic had done to so many people. Sephiroth, Hojo, the names were nearly interchangeable but for the fact that it was _his_ fault that the former had lost his mind… had been allowed to be created in the first place. He smelled cigarette smoke and half turned, smiling wanly as Cid came up to stand by his side. “I am glad you are here, Cid. My mind troubles me, and I would have you distract it.”

“That makes two of us, then, don’t it?” He made sure not to bring the cigarette too close to Vincent, choosing to stand by silently until it was done. Once he had crushed it beneath his foot, he moved closer, slipping an arm around his friend’s waist and letting his head fall against the shoulder so perfectly within reach before realizing that he was standing on Vincent’s left side. It didn’t matter to him, but he worried a little that it might make the gunman uncomfortable. Only a little, though, and not enough to bother him to move. “You know standin’ here makes you sad. Come on; let’s go have a drink. I think we need a laugh tonight. Unless you had somethin’ else in mind?” he asked, remembering the distinct way Vincent had formed his request/demand.

Vincent unconsciously leaned into Cid and shook his head. “No, nothing comes to mind other than the desire to not think about what tomorrow may bring. I’ll join you for that drink. Do you have any more of that wine we had last night? I rather enjoyed that…” Vincent trailed off. That was the closest he had ever come to rambling, short as it was, and he just wanted to get away from his destiny at the moment. “Laughter is good; I’m glad you showed me how to do so again, Cid.” They turned as one and Vincent drifted to walk little behind and to the side of Cid as they made their way to the Captain’s Quarters. Once inside, Vincent automatically removed his gauntlet, glove, and mantle, not even thinking about it anymore. He felt troubled and wasn’t sure why.

Cid did have some wine left, and filled a glass for each of them. He brought them to the coffee table in front of the couch and snatched one of the pillows resting on the end opposite of where he was sitting. He clutched it against his chest for no reason he could find. Vincent settled next to him and took a glass, sipping it in that accidentally delicate way he had. Cid could only watch. Gradually, he became accustomed again to Vincent’s proximity. When Vincent next lowered the drink from his lips, Cid tossed the pillow to the floor and tugged on Vincent’s arm. 

Startled, Vincent looked at Cid. “Cid, what?”

Sighing, Cid shifted a bit and grabbed at Vincent’s shoulders instead, drawing him closer. “Let me hold ya a minute, Vin. Just a minute.” His eyes were almost pleading, though Vincent couldn’t see them. “I’ll let ya go if it makes ya uncomf’table, I promise.” Surely a warm, solid body would be more comforting than a pillow. Particularly Vincent’s body, the only one Cid wanted to be so close to. 

Vincent wrapped his arms around Cid and held him, barely containing his surprise. The man was upset, more than he had ever seen, and that had him a little worried. He rested his cheek against the soft hair, awkwardly stroking it with one hand. “Cid,” he whispered, “what is it?” He pulled back and searched the man’s face for the answer. “Tell me what’s wrong?” He drew the pilot back into an embrace when the blond looked hesitant and almost…scared. “Cid, can you not talk to me?”

“What makes you think somethin’s wrong? Ain’t nothin’ wrong. Just…sit with me like this a minute, an’ then I’ll warm us up somethin’a eat.” His fingers combed through Vincent’s hair, and his eyes closed as an intense feeling of rightness settled over him. “Just don’t wanna feel lonely right now. This helps more’n anything. You feel that too?” He hoped so; it would give him a chance. It took all his self-restraint to keep the contact at this minimum. He wasn’t aroused; wasn’t even on the way, but his body craved more. He figured that was proof that this wasn’t just lust, and it only served to sadden him further. _Look at you, Highwind. Pathetic. Y’finally find someone an’ fall for ‘im, an’ now…an’ now._ Now. That was what they had, and he would be damned if he let it pass in dread and regret.

Vincent sighed. “Of course, Cid,” he said a little distantly then he murmured into the man’s ear, “it’ll be all right. I’ll _make_ it be all right.” He didn’t care what Cid thought to that; he said it for himself as much as the other. So Vincent held him, stroking his back and enjoying the presence of the other before Cid huffed and heaved himself to his feet to go and warm up a meal. Vincent just sat there, head resting on the back of the couch and wondered what hell was going on.

Cid did not feel like preparing a meal, so he reheated some of the roast he’d had for dinner a few days ago. It was simple, mild- almost tasteless, really- so Vincent would have nothing to complain about it. He was only stressed that their wine didn’t match with it. He sighed. So much for making everything perfect. “Gonna come eat, Vin?” _Might be the last time you get to have dinner with me._ “I promise this stuff won’t hurt.”

Vincent didn’t answer, instead, he started to sing. It wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even terribly good, but at least he could hold the pitch and keep the notes pure. It was a lullaby, a simple child’s song, and something his mother used to sing to him when he was scared. And somehow he felt he needed to sing it now:

 

Golden slumber kiss your eyes,  
Smiles await you when you rise.  
Sleep, pretty baby,  
Do not cry,  
And I'll sing you a lullaby. 

Care you know not,  
Therefore sleep,  
While I o'er you watch do keep.

Sleep, pretty darling,  
Do not cry,  
And I will sing a lullaby.

 

He turned his head and grinned at Cid. “Sorry, Cid. My mother used to sing that to me. I don’t know why I thought of it just now, but…” he trailed off and shrugged. Feeling a little more light-hearted, he asked teasingly. “What’s for dinner? Hopefully it won’t burn off the rest of the nerves in my mouth; I do not have many left.”

Cid smiled softly. “Momma used’a sing me that same one. Always thought she had a real nice voice. You do, too. To me, anyway. Come on; come sit with me. Don’t wanna eat alone.” He went back to the couch, took his hands, and hauled him to his feet. Halfway back to the kitchen, he stopped and just looked at him. “Ya don’t know how much ya help, Vincent,” he said, and hugged him close, leaving a kiss on the side of his neck when he pulled away. His lips tingled. “An’ I’m sure you’ve had this about a thousand times. Shouldn’t do you any harm.” After a few more steps, Cid saw that Vincent had taken notice of his old sketchbook and was looking curiously at it. He had only recently started using it again, but it had been with him for a long time. Almost all the pages were used, some on both sides. “Oh, that? Ya c’n look through it if ya want. Just don’t let those last few freak ya out too much.” _Shouldn’t’a left it on the table, stupid._

Vincent smiled at Cid as he sat down at the table, spinning the sketchbook around so he could start flicking through the dog-eared pages. He was struck by how _good_ the drawings were. There was one particular picture of a woman who kept recurring in different poses. He cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Who is this woman? There is something soft about her, kind and loving…” he trailed off and kept flipping. He wasn’t surprised to find multiple sketches – in varying stages of detail – of airships and rockets and interestingly, toward the back there was what appeared to be a sunrise or sunset, he couldn’t tell because it was only black and white. As he eyes continued to study the pictures he said, “Cid, I don’t know what to say, these are very, _very_ good! How long have…” his voice died away as he came to the very back of the sketchbook and he just stared. “Cid, are-are these of _me_?” Of course they were, but he asked anyway as a knee-jerk reaction to seeing his own face and body looking back at him. They lacked any definite detail and were only the roughest of sketches at best, but their identity was unmistakable. One was of him standing at the rail, his hair caught in the wind, and another was of him holding Death Penalty, aiming in a fighting stance. He looked up at the blushing pilot, rather stunned. “They’re not finished.” He said bluntly, but his voice was soft, not accusatory or condescending.

“Have some roast.” After placing a plate in front of Vincent –and safely away from the book-Cid commenced stuffing his face. He figured Vincent would rather have his questions ignored than watch him talk with his mouth full. Eventually, he realized he was being just as rude by not answering, so he swallowed, took a sip of the wine he really didn’t remember bringing with him, and slid the book closer to himself. “I never finish anything in there. You’ll notice that even if it’s detailed, it ain’t colored. An’, uh, ya make a good subject, s‘all. The girl there, I grew up with ‘er. Amelia. She fought with the original AVALANCHE. Well, ya wouldn’t know about that. Was about five years ago. Anyway, she was like a sister. Had to talk me into every major decision I ever made. They uh, turned ‘er into a Raven. Guess ya prob’ly don’t know about them, either, huh? Well…they were genetically enhanced fer fightin’, like SOLDIER but even more fucked up. She…well, there wasn’t no human left in ‘er. ShinRa captured ‘er an’ put ‘er down like an animal.” Looking up at Vincent, he realized he had ventured into a subject dangerously close to one they were trying to avoid. “But anyway,” he said, flipping to the back again, “I like ‘em like this. ‘Cause if I put in all the detail and everything, there’s no reason for me to remember. I wanna remember, ‘cause…well, it’s better than just seein’ it on paper. That prob’ly don’t make sense to ya, but…” Cid shrugged and turned one more page, not remembering what came next.

“Ah,” Vincent said softly, poking at his food, “I see.” It made perfect sense to him, actually, but he didn’t say anything to that effect. He figured Cid didn’t really care about what he had to say anyway. More times than not, when he asked the pilot a question, Cid would get surly or defensive and it seemed like he spent more time trying to get _him_ to speak, as though it was some kind of game he had to win.  _Well, so much for that,_ he thought, allowing his face to fall back into its usual unreadable expression, but he _did_ say, “Well, finished or not, they are very good. You have real talent, Cid.” And that was the end of that. He didn’t really feel very hungry, so he focused upon his wine instead.

Cid’s expression softened as he took in the last “completed” drawing in the book. It featured himself and Vincent at their picnic on the deck. He was oblivious to Vincent’s returned sullenness, as he had become engrossed in studying the picture again. He took a pencil from its place under the strap of his goggles and began adding more detail, fleshing out angles and adjusting shading, roast forgotten. Sneaking reference-peeks at Vincent’s face every so often, he completed the image to a greater extent than any of the others depicting Vincent. “I never watched ya while I had this,” he said, “so I couldn’t be sure they were right. The other pictures, I mean.” With a few final strokes, he tore out the page carefully and pushed it toward Vincent. “I want ya t’have that one. I never was too good with self-portraits, but I wanted…” _I wanted you to have somethin’ of us together just in case I don’t make it out alive. “_ Well, I wanted ya to have it, that’s all.” He had never really been shy about showing off his drawings; he knew they were good, and he prided himself on them. With this one, though, he was fervently hoping for approval, and the closed-off look on Vincent’s face said that he might not get it. 

Vincent studied the picture, suddenly...well, brokenhearted. He remembered that day. A sad little smile played at his lips as he traced Cid’s face with his fingertip. He had shared a part of himself with Cid, shooting; even though the man really didn’t appear to care for it, he still made Vincent _feel_ special. He didn’t pick it up, he was afraid to. He was afraid that if he touched it, he would sully it, dirty the moment somehow. He felt the distance between them like the great rift of rock at Cosmo Canyon _. How had it come to this so suddenly? What happened?_ He thought desperately as his heart bled. Inwardly he was a wreck, outwardly he showed no emotion whatsoever as he looked up at Cid. “Thank you,” he whispered, oblivious to the fact that he was still lightly stroking Cid’s penciled face with a forefinger.

“Dammit, I didn’t mean to make ya sad, Vin. You don’t…you don’t wanna leave, do ya? I don’t think…I don’t think I’d be okay if you left.” _What the hell was that? Y’sound like a woman, Highwind._ “All right,” he said, pushing his chair from the table. “Let’s go do somethin’. I’m depressin’ both of us just sittin’ here.” Neither of them had eaten very much, but the wine would be gone before the night was over for sure. “Hey. As far as I’m concerned, this place is yours as much as mine. So…anything you wanna do? I mean, I know you said it doesn’t matter, but…if there’s anything you want that I can help you with, I wanna make sure you get it. Look at ya. Ya taught me how to shoot, rebuilt my _Bronco_ , had dinner an’ lunch an’ drinks with me just so I wouldn’t be alone. You…shit, Vincent, you’ve given me so much this past few days. Everything I wanted.”

Vincent stood when Cid did, out of habit, and shook his head. “It is enough for me to be here with you, Cid. I do not wish to be alone either.” He turned away and wandered into the sitting area before saying, “I have been alone too long. Is there nothing you wish to do?” He turned around and leveled a stare on the pilot.

“Well…” He snatched the tattered book again and opened it to the very last page, where there was a very indistinct drawing. “There’s this,” he said, turning it in Vincent’s direction. Figuring he’d better explain, he shuffled his feet and said, “Remember how ya said you’d model for me? Yeah, I put some thought into it, an’ this is what I came up with. If…y’know, if ya still wanted to give it a try.” The subject seemed rather taboo, now that he was thinking about it. Here they sat, ice forming between them, and Cid suggested that Vincent strip. He was certain that would not end well, and braced himself for the verbal blows and the storming out. 

Vincent almost took a step back he was so startled at this request. _You want me to…pose?_  But he _had_ said that he would and if the truth were known, the idea didn’t upset him. It made him a little nervous, but not upset. He stared at Cid for probably too long as the pilot began to turn red and fidget before he said softly, “That is right, Cid, I did say that.” He walked up to the blonde and placed his hand against the rough, stubbly cheek and said, “I would see you happy Cid. For all your faults, I wish for nothing else for you, and if this would make you happy, why, how can I refuse?” His hand went to his collar and unfastened the clasp. His stomach was in knots, but he gave his word of sorts, “Where do you want me?”

“Fuck, anywhere,” he mumbled, before realizing that the question was actually important. “Uhh, the easel’s by the bed, an’ you’d prob’ly be more comf’table there anyway. You really…you really want to? I ain’t askin’ if you _will_ , I’m askin’ if you _want to._ ” Cid really hoped for an affirmative answer to that. At the same time, he looked back on the way he’d been acting all evening and determined that he had been trying to make Vincent leave even as he told himself that was the last thing he wanted. _Fuckin’ subconscious._ “I won’t be upset with ya if you don’t, an’ I still won’t want ya ta leave.” 

Vincent placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and said, “Cid, I _want_ to do this, all right?” He took a step back and bent over to unfasten and pull off his armored boots. He then straightened and walked into the bedroom; acutely aware of how close Cid was behind him. His stomach clenched tighter.  He paused in the doorway and looked around at the rumpled, dirty clothes on the floor, the unmade bed, the ‘spare’ pack of cigarettes on the nightstand next to an overfull ashtray and tried to make light of the situation. “You-“ he cleared his throat, “you should not have fired your maid, Cid.” He turned and grinned lopsidedly at the pilot as he pulled his headscarf off to let his hair fall in a shaggy, obsidian mane around his face. “Do you have a robe I might use?”

Cid snorted. “What the hell would I want with a robe? Nope, sorry.” He kicked some of the discarded items around to form a path and cleared a space on the top of the wardrobe for Vincent’s things. “Guess you can use a towel, though. Those’re always clean,” he teased, watching the mild horror on the pale face as the gunslinger took in the dirty clothes. “I’ll get set up, I guess, while you…” he cleared his throat as well, “yeah.”

Closing his eyes and praying for patience and not to vomit, Vincent sighed and said reluctantly, “A towel will have to suffice.” He walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and took a deep breath. _You_ _can do this Valentine. He’s your friend, he is not going to judge you_. His back to the mirror, Vincent began to remove his clothes. When he stepped from the last of it, he pulled down one of the fluffy towels and wrapped it around his waist, which slipped low on his narrow hips (he never _could_ wear towels). He carefully folded his shirt and pants, coiled the headscarf on top of the elbow-length glove, and holding the lot of it against his chest hesitated one more time before exiting the bathroom and crossing the narrow hall to stand once more in the doorway of Cid’s bedroom. “And what is the pose you had in mind for me?” he asked softly, mildly chagrined at the heat he felt radiating from his face.

“Shit, you could stand right there just like that an’…heh, did I say that out loud? Too much to drink…” Cid ran a hand down his face and tried again. “Well, I don’t know, really. I mean, I thought about it a little, yeah, but…I dunno. Why don’t you…make yerself comfortable, an’ we’ll work from there? Can leave yer stuff up there,” he said, pointing at the only empty space on the flat surface. “Toss me those cigarettes, would ya? I don’t smoke in here, an’ especially not with you here, but I ran out o’ toothpicks, so.” He was rambling. In Cid’s case, that did not exactly denote nervousness, but it very well could have in this case. “You can…ya know, keep covered anything you really feel you need to. I’m not gonna ask ya ta blatantly show off everything.”

Cocking his head, Vincent walked into the room and deposited his clothes on the dresser before lifting an eyebrow at the ashtray when Cid said he didn’t smoke in the bedroom. Eyebrow still cocked, he glanced over his shoulder at the pilot meaningfully before picking up the cigarettes and tossing them to the blond. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite as shy as he had, and he wasn’t quite sure why. “Cid, I just placed _comfortable_ on your dresser.” He took a couple of steps closer to the pilot. “Would you like me on the bed then?” he asked, attempting to _unlock_ Cid from his apparently frozen state, and get this thing moving forward.

“Huh? Uh, yeah, that’s good. Don’t fix it, though. Needs to be messed up a little for the, uh, theme.” _Theme? You just screwed yerself over. You don’t do_ theme. “Try sittin’ first, an’ if that don’t work for one of us, we’ll lay you down.” Suddenly he needed to occupy his hands, and did so by adjusting the easel and finding the stool and the extra canvas he kept around. Once he was satisfied, at least temporarily, he sat and opened the pack of cigarettes, placing one in his mouth before pitching them back to Vincent. “Take one if you want. Might help you relax.”

_ Uh-huh, liar _ , Vincent thought as Cid lit up a cigarette and he caught the pack that was flung back at him. He sighed as he placed them back on the nightstand and turned to settle on the bed, back straight and hands resting in his lap. He didn’t know _what_ Cid had in mind and was lost as to what to do next. 

Cid looked at Vincent, eyebrow raised skeptically. “Naw, that won’t do. Not at all. Gotta get that towel off, first thing.” He watched hungrily as Vincent slipped off the towel. His legs were gorgeous- long and muscled and enough to make Cid double-check his mouth to make sure it was closed. “Okay, now scoot back a little, an’ sit…fer now, sit like you always do.” He took in that view for a moment, then began mentally rearranging limbs until something appealed to him. “Okay, got it. Leave yer right knee there an’ yer right arm just kinda…hangin’ out. Put yer left leg back down, like y’re tryin’a decide whether you wanna get up or not. And hold out yer left arm, like there’s somebody you want standin’ just outta reach. Would you, uh, would you feel better with the glove or somethin’ on? I don’t want ya t’be uncomfortable.”

The slightly cooler air tickled across Vincent’s skin and he felt goosebumps rise up causing him to shiver involuntarily. He felt dreadfully exposed, facing Cid like this, as naked as the day he was born. He felt as though the man could see right into what was left of his soul. He swallowed and said, “Neither the glove nor the gauntlet is who I am, Cid. If you wish to paint me, I wouldn’t hide behind them, unless you wished me to wear them.” He fell silent and watched Cid begin to work. As though he couldn’t help it he said, “You know, the only other person to see me like this was Hojo…” he winced, and shut his mouth, _immediately_ regretting having said that, and once again unconsciously rubbing the scar just below his sternum. “I am sorry, that name has no place here,” he whispered.

While preparing his paint and brushes, Cid answered, “Good. I’d hoped you wouldn’t wanna hide. ‘Cause damn, Vince, just as you are, y’re…shit, I don’t even know if there’s a word for it. But I know I wouldn’t have ya any other way, no matter who you used to be. An’ don’t apologize,” he scolded, looking steadily at Vincent. “I know ya know I ain’t him, so I ain’t even gonna go into it. F’talkin’ makes you less nervous or whatever, you go right ahead. An’ just fer conversation’s sake, the only other person I ever let watch me work was Millie. You’re the only one ever come close to meanin’ as much to me as she did.” Everything covered (so to speak), Cid lapsed into silence and began painting. He never sketched first; he felt that imperfections and little preparation made a piece more honest, therefore more valuable. Beginning with the lightest colors, the whites and greys, he began capturing the basic lines and shapes, knowing that the majority of the detail could be added after Vincent was allowed to move. Once he got to Vincent’s body, he stopped for a moment and just stared. He could so easily imagine himself as the one being offered that hand, so easily see himself take it. He wanted to speak; speaking would have distracted his body from the rather intense reaction it was having at the sight of Vincent being so exposed. Sitting cross-legged on a stool, he reflected, was not a wise choice. He would likely be here for at least two and a half hours, unable to move for fear of knocking against the easel. He had worked while aroused before, but not to this degree and not for such an extended period of time. Half an hour later, Vincent’s shape was completed, the palest shade of flesh color he could mix barely standing out against the blue-grey bedspread and the empty gray wall. _So pretty. He looks nice here, sittin’ there waitin’ for me._ The rug next to the bed was a rich beige, and Vincent’s toes (and they _were_ hairy, no matter what he claimed) complemented it well. He had, either consciously or unconsciously, allowed some of the threads to sift between the digits, and Cid made sure to include that, as it struck some sort of chord inside him. Something like homesickness, but fainter in definition and more intense in feeling. _Nostalgia. But that don’t really make sense here._ Internally, he was debating how best to describe the gunslinger in that moment. Something between adorable and sexy, he concluded, but once again there was no perfect word. _Who gives a fuck about words, anyway?_

Another twenty minutes, and the paint-and-canvas Vincent had fingernails, toenails and a face. Next Cid worked to define the body, careful not to miss a single line, saving the ruined arm for last because it’s coloring was more complex. _Hojo, you bastard..._ He actually found himself a bit discomfited at the thought of painting the uppermost parts of Vincent’s thighs and what came between them, but he managed. “You’re so good, Vin, bein’ still for me,” he said, talking more to the painting than the real Vincent. The outstretched fingers were starting to tremble, so he increased his pace a bit, wincing at having taken so long already. He finished with the scars, both on his chest and on his arm, and stopped again to look.  _Sorry, honey. I just could look atcha like this for hours…_ After capturing the details in the background directly affected by the presence of a body on the bed, such as certain wrinkles in the sheets and shadows, he finished for the time being with delicate, sweeping strokes of black. While the raven hair was drying, he took a smaller brush and added pupil, eyelashes, and eyebrows (one of them raised slightly), and flecks of light against the black of the hair and eyes. Cid looked back and forth between his inspiration and his creation. In his eyes, the painting was the most beautiful work he’d ever done, but it could not compare to the man still sitting and waiting. “A’ right, honey. You’re all done.”

As Cid began to become engrossed in his work, Vincent settled into his pose and watched the emotions play across the rugged but expressive face.  _There is something oddly endearing about the man_ , Vincent thought. He suspected it was the child-like excitement Cid exhibited when he was truly passionate about something. Vincent took a moment to examine the eccentric creature named Cid Highwind. There was the _fighter_ – coarse and crude and utterly ruthless in battle. He was cool, nonchalant and appeared to care about things only as much as he had to. That was whom everyone _else_ saw. Then there was the _man_ – hesitant, very nearly shy to the point of being afraid of rejection. He was big-hearted, compassionate, affectionate, and _almost_ thoughtful. That was whom _he_ saw.  _And_ both _of them have deplorable manners, hideous speaking skills, atrocious penmanship and a_ clear _lack of housekeeping ability_ , Vincent thought. If he had been in front of a mirror, he would have been horrified to see the grossly uncharacteristic, dreamy little smile he had on his face. It was around _that_ moment that Vincent _finally_ realized exactly what it was about Cid that had set him off balance. 

First and foremost, Cid was his friend. He enjoyed the man’s company and was _actually_ beginning to crave it. Cid treated him like he was normal, _never_ judged him because of who he was or what was done to him, but most importantly, Cid _respected_ him and didn’t smother him in pity. He trusted Cid enough to be himself, to let his guard down because the pilot would never willingly betray that trust. Second, Cid was his partner. They had fought side-by-side, defended each other and if it came down to it, Vincent trusted Cid with his life. And he had that trust returned. He didn’t think Cid _really_ understood just what a _precious_ gift someone’s trust really was. And lastly, Vincent’s body called out to Cid’s in desire. He had been held in the man’s arms, had held in return, and it had felt _right_. He had felt Cid’s hands on him and he had yearned for more. He had kissed Cid’s lips and he had never experienced a headier thing – the caress of lips first gentle, tender then deepening into a dominant, aggressive possession; a promise of more carnal pleasures. 

Vincent felt his belly clench as need and desire slammed into him and he could feel himself becoming hard, but was powerless to stop it as images and sensations continued to saturate his mind. He didn’t care. The world could very well be destroyed tomorrow, so his insecurities ceased to matter. What _did_ matter, though, was the fact that he _wanted_ Cid to know how he felt. He _needed_ Cid to know. Vincent’s arm slowly lowered until it rested on the bed by his thigh, his vermilion gaze fixed on the blond. He swallowed and said what was in his heart, “I love you, Cid.” Silence met him, enfolded him in its arms and made him suddenly unsure. The pilot had frozen in place, not looking at him and for a moment, Vincent was afraid he had gone too far and finally offended the man. But he was determined to finish it. “Regardless of how you may feel about me, I wanted you to know that. Cloud said that we were, ultimately, fighting for ourselves, and once upon a time that might have been true. But that has changed for me. Now, I’m fighting for you, to save this world for _you_ , so you can have your airships and fly wherever your heart desires to go. I do not know when I began to feel these things,” Vincent placed his hand over his heart, “when my heart began to beat again, but- but you, Cid, _you_ woke it up. You showed me I could still laugh, that I could care about something _other_ than vengeance. You _never_  gave up on me, even when I tried to push you away. And if I am to be fated to annihilation, your face is the last thing I want to see before I cease to exist.” Vincent’s face was red, but he bravely held his chin raised and waited for Cid’s gentle dismissal.   

Cid nearly dropped his brush. Vincent really hadn’t noticed by now? And people had always told Cid that subtlety was not his strong point…soon he realized that the longer he sat there thinking, the redder Vincent’s face became. He shook his head, a smile on his lips. Slowly he stood, careful of the easel, and walked to sit beside Vincent. “See that? You’re stronger’n I ever could be. Came right out an’ said what I thought you didn’t wanna hear.” He was beginning to ramble, he noticed, and knew that he had to put a stop to that immediately. “Love you too, honey,” he said, and reached for the shocked face.

The brush of Cid’s lips was soft and gentle, an embrace in its own right. Vincent returned the kiss by reflex, more confused than anything else, and when Cid pulled back he said, sounding a little bewildered, “Just like that? You’re not disgusted by me,” he held up his mangled hand, “and all that I am, what I represent?” _That was too quick_ ; _I don’t understand,_ Vincent thought. “I- I thought you were just saying those things…” he trailed off, unable to finish _. That cannot be all._

Cid chuckled. “What, you think I just decided it right now just ‘cause you said it? No fuckin’ way. I’ve felt it fer weeks, just…thought ya didn’t want no part in it. An’ I could never be disgusted by you.” He placed a hand on Vincent’s chest. “Not any part of ya.” He seemed to register quite suddenly the fact that Vincent was aroused, and his eyes lingered there before returning to meet the red ones, the look in the blue more intense than a moment before. “You want me,” he stated, voice growing rough. _What the hell does somebody like him want with an old fool like me?_

The look in those eyes had turned them nearly storm cloud gray, and Vincent shivered. No more thinking, no more rationalizing, no more _excuses_. He leaned forward and captured Cid’s lips again, coaxing the man’s mouth open by licking and sucking along the full lower lip. He pulled back just enough to say, “Yes, Cid, for all your habits, curses, and potentially fatal attempts at cooking, I want you. Now,” he barely brushed Cid’s lips with his own, teasingly, suggestively, “if you could have anything…what would it be?”

“Can I ask for everything? No, that’s like havin’ three wishes an’ usin’ each one o’ them fer three more, ain’t it? An’ I only get one? That’s all right. I only need one, Vin.” Cid grinned and pulled his shirt over his head, taking his goggles with it, before pinning Vincent with strong arms and a lazy stare. “I want you to stay with me after this. Will you do that? An’ in the meantime, I want these legs wrapped around me.” He pulled back and caressed them appreciatively, watching the way his touch made them quiver. “Or does that count as two?”

“I’m not counting,” Vincent gasped, shivering in anticipation of Cid’s hands on more of his body. He spread his legs wider, raising his knees in silent invitation as he brought his left arm back behind his head. He lifted his right hand and immediately Cid laced his fingers with Vincent’s own. “I believe I may be persuaded to stay around,” he said, smiling softly. “I have nowhere else to go that wouldn’t cause the rest of me to die, and I’d much rather live… now.” Vincent tugged on Cid’s hand, bringing the pilot back down onto his body. Arm still behind his head, Vincent released Cid’s hand in favor of the man’s cheek and jaw, steadying the pilot’s head as he kissed him again, deep and thorough. When they separated, Vincent finally moved his left hand and placed it on the other side of Cid’s face. “Put your hands on me, Cid. Would you do that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He kissed Vincent again, because he liked the way it felt to finally be able to do it without the fear of being pushed away. Once he was satisfied with that, he rolled off Vincent and slid his hands slowly down the slim body, never breaking eye contact. Just as he reached his hips, Cid pulled away and reached for himself instead, finally freeing himself of his pants, which were beginning to seem less and less necessary. He kicked them down to his ankles, but when they proved too stubborn to be removed entirely, he sighed and stood to remove them before settling atop Vincent again, apologizing and promising he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. He pressed their bodies together, closing his eyes as Vincent’s arms came around him.

He was on fire. Need fought with desire warred with lust and all bowed down to what Vincent now realized was _love_. He very nearly whimpered when Cid stood to remove the remainder of his clothing, his skin tingling and burning, needing that skin-to-skin contact. When the larger man laid his body back down upon his, he moaned and arched into the contact. He wrapped his arms around Cid, reveling in the warmth of the man’s body, marveling at the softness of the tawny skin and delighting in the feel of the hard, defined muscles that made up this warrior. It had been so very long since Vincent had felt these desires, these sensations, but his body remembered… _oh_ _,_ how it remembered! He gasped and writhed when he felt Cid’s erection rub against his own in between their pressed and thrusting bodies, and suddenly he knew with almost shocking clarity what he wanted. He brought his lips next to Cid’s ear and in a choked voice said, “Join with me Cid, I need to feel you inside me.”

Cid was pretty sure he couldn’t argue with that if he wanted to. “You’re sure?” he tried to ask, but Vincent shot him a look that made his answer clearer than words could have. Cid let his head fall on Vincent’s shoulder with a sigh. He would have to move again, as the bedside table was rather far away. “I know I promised, but hang on, honey, all right?” Within a few seconds, he had found what they needed and returned to Vincent, so impatient that he was slicking his fingers on the way back. He knelt between Vincent’s knees and reached for him, not in the least surprised by the amount of resistance that met him. Pulling his hand back, he said, “Vincent. Y’hafta relax for me if you want it.”

Vincent had watched Cid hungrily as the pilot slicked his fingers with lubricant. _Yes!_ He shivered again with anticipation, but when Cid sought entrance into his body, it resisted not only instinctively, but it remembered other invasions, ones that were cold and impersonal but still left him feeling violated and exposed. “Cid,” he moaned, wanting the man so badly it hurt, but afraid of a different kind of pain, “help me.”

“Glad to, honey,” Cid assured him, and changed position so that he was lying where he had been kneeling. Keeping his fingers near but never using pressure, he used them to tease around the entrance while he pressed kisses along the insides of his thighs and on his stomach. In time, his tongue reached out for Vincent’s erection, stroking up and down until it withdrew again to allow Cid to take it into his mouth. Once he had fully captured Vincent’s attention with the motions of his mouth, he tried again to press inside, and found it much easier this time. He saw no harm in continuing his pleasuring of Vincent, so as he stretched and prepared him, his head kept moving. By the time he was satisfied that Vincent’s body could take him, Cid had brought the poor man to the edge and pulled him back from it a few times, determined to give him the one thing he had asked for.

The images in his mind had grown to nearly horrific proportions, filled with restraints, metal probes and electronic devices meant for stimulation…and pain. Vincent’s heart was pounding and his chest was heaving great gulps of air, but then something began to intrude on his panicked thoughts. Soft, sensuous kisses to his inner thigh, slowly working their way onto his belly and he jumped and moaned when he felt Cid’s tongue come out to flick the head of his penis before he was engulfed in wet, hot heat that drove the frigid cold of the laboratory to the deepest parts of his mind. His hips rose off the mattress of their own volition in small thrusts as Cid continued to pleasure him and he was so focused upon that pleasure that he was completely oblivious to Cid’s fingers sliding in and out of his body, scissoring and stretching. Finally, when Vincent thought he could take no more, the pressure in his groin too much, Cid pulled away to slick himself, and this time he did whimper. He put up no resistance as Cid hooked his arm under his knees and lifted his hips to present him for penetration. Vincent started when he felt the broad head of Cid’s cock pushing against his anus and he bit his lip. Cid leaned down by his ear and nuzzled his neck before murmuring roughly, “I need’ja to push out honey, I don’ want it ta hurt.” Vincent felt the pilot stroking his cheek with such tenderness as he continued to murmur encouragements that the combination made something release inside Vincent’s mind and his body began to relax, as he did what Cid asked. He grunted as he felt Cid slide the rest of the way in until he was fully seated, his pelvis resting against Vincent’s buttocks. 

“Shit,” Cid gasped, “y’re so tight honey. So fuckin’ _tight_.” Vincent felt unbelievably stretched, and it _burned_. He had forgotten how this felt, and it was quickly becoming uncomfortable, but then Cid began to move. Slowly at first, with small pushes that wrung gasps from his throat, but those gasps quickly turned into moans as Cid deepened his strokes into driving thrusts, each one burying the pilot deeper and deeper still until Vincent could swear he could feel it in his throat.   He clung to Cid, getting lost in the sensation of being so utterly filled, and when Cid’s hips angled up and hit the gland deep within his body, Vincent arched his back and cried out.  _What_ he cried out he didn’t know, he didn’t care as Cid, grinning, continued to pound into his body at that precise angle until Vincent couldn’t focus for the pleasure of it. “Cid!” he gasped, but the blond had one more surprise for him, wrapping one strong, calloused hand around his engorged erection and beginning to pump in time with his thrusts. It didn’t take long as the pressure in his groin tightened his balls and shot up his spine in a lightning arc until he flew apart, first arching his back, then bowing up to curve around Cid’s body as orgasm overtook him, causing him to cry out, his muscles twitching and hips giving small spastic jerks as he ejaculated onto his belly and into Cid’s hand. Above him, Cid gave a massive shudder and shoved into his body in three quick jerks before sighing and pushing up onto shaking arms to gaze down at him, his blue eyes heavy and sated. Vincent hadn’t realized he’d bitten the man until he both tasted blood on his lips and saw the bite mark on Cid’s shoulder. He tried to apologize but could only mutter in a slurred, exhausted voice, “I’m sorry…” before he just gave up and lay there, feeling Cid release his legs and letting his hips fall to the bed. It felt so good to lie there, warm and heavy. He was so relaxed and lethargic that he barely even registered the smooth, quiet and very involuntary purring that rumbled from deep within his chest.

Cid was certain it had never been this good. In the back of his mind, he also knew that he had probably thought the same thing many times before, but he ignored that. Besides, Vincent blew them all out of the park. Looking down at him, Cid had a feeling that once he became accustomed to intimacy again, Vincent would likely give him a run for his money. He would be positively perfect. Not that he wasn’t perfect already, of course, because he was, and he was also… _purring? Nah._ It was a familiar and comforting sound, but not something one normally expected to follow sex. Cid’s first absurd thought was that one of the feline members of the party had been watching, but that was ridiculous because Nanaki didn’t purr and Cait Sith could only simulate sounds. This was organic, fresh, and real…and definitely coming from Vincent. Cid raised an eyebrow at him. “That good, huh? Heh.” Vincent had the dignity to blush a bit at being called on his pleasure. “Guess that means I made, uh, _everybody_ happy?” Ignoring his shoulder, he rolled off Vincent and looked at him. “We oughta get cleaned up.” Vincent, half-asleep, shot him a look that said, _“I am not moving.”_ Cid smiled. “Well, I’ll take care of ya then, honey,” he said, but found that he did not want to move. “Fuck it, let’s just sleep. Big day t’morra. You are gonna stay here, right?” He didn’t leave his companion much choice as he pulled closer to him the body that was warmer than his own and still vibrating with the evidence of his contentment.

Vincent grunted as Cid pulled him against his body, spooning up behind him, but that didn’t feel right to him for some reason. So instead he wriggled around in Cid’s arms, ignoring the pilot’s startled sound until he was lying curled against the big blond’s chest with his head on the pillow and just under Cid’s chin. He let his eyes drift shut as he inhaled Cid’s unique scent and listened to the strong, steady thudding of the man’s heart. He wrapped his arm around Cid’s waist, pulling the pilot closer and slid his leg in between Cid’s. He smiled and sighed softly when Cid draped his heavy thigh over him. _This_ felt right; made him feel safe and, dare he think it, cherished. Sleep hovered just on the edge of his consciousness, but he just couldn’t bring himself to give into it, not when he knew what was waiting for him when he closed his eyes. So he lay there in Cid’s arms and listened to the pilot fall asleep, feeling how the man’s muscles slowly relaxed but never moved from where he cradled Vincent to him. 

After a while Vincent pulled back just slightly and placed his hand on Cid’s pectoral and couldn’t help the flinch at the contrast of his nearly ashy white, unnatural, skin compared to the warm sun-kissed bronze under his palm. Almost as though Cid could read his thoughts, the pilot murmured, “Y’re perfect Vince…jus’ like y’are….woudn’t change….any…thin.” and nuzzled his hair before falling back into heavier slumber…and beginning to snore. He bit back a chuckle and traced a scar on Cid’s chest, vaguely wondering where he got it. Several more hours passed with Vincent’s mind hesitantly daring to dream of a future, one that included Cid, where he finally put his past behind him and tried to move on, to make of life what his new body would allow him to. He would make a point enjoy the little things as well as the greater, such as his new friends – for he was beginning to think of them as such – and maybe, just maybe he could look upon sunsets again without feeling pain. 

Finally, as dawn began to turn the sky the lightest rose petal pink, Vincent managed to pry himself out of Cid’s arms and stood up at the edge of the bed. He looked down at the man who had woken his heart, a gentle, fond smile on his lips. He feathered his fingers through the short blond hair, and his smile widened to reach his eyes as Cid murmured his name. Then Vincent turned and made his way into the bathroom where he cleaned himself up and returned to the room to pull his pants on, leaving his shirt still folded with gloves and head scarf on the dresser. With a last look at the dead-to-the-world pilot, he made his way to the small kitchen where this all had started, and brewed some tea. He pulled down two mugs and filled them. Setting one on the table, he took the other into the bedroom to place it next to Cid’s cigarettes; he knew the pilot would be awake soon, and that the tea would still be warm if not hot. He returned for the second mug, pausing to look down at the drawing Cid had given him. Smiling, he picked it up, neatly folded it and placed it safely deep in his pocket before walking over to the large round window in the sitting area of Cid’s quarters and as he sipped his tea, he watched the sun rise and waited for his lover to wake up.

Cid blinked slowly upon waking; automatically reaching for Vincent as his body remembered the night before. His brow furrowed in confusion when he grasped nothing but air. _So he left, huh?_ He thought, and spied the clothes still on the shelf and the tea on the table. A corner of his mouth lifted, and he stood, stretched, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. He figured Vincent would just look at him disapprovingly if he didn’t clean up a little. Still, he didn’t bother grabbing clothes when he went back for his tea, and Vincent didn’t seem surprised at all by his nakedness. “Mornin’.” Cid walked to stand behind him, slipping his arms around the wonderfully bare torso. He would have tried to drink his tea in that same position but for the fear that he would spill the liquid on Vincent. Reluctantly, he let go and moved to his chair, accidentally downing half the cup at once. He patted his lap and looked at the beauty standing a few feet away. “Well? Do I get a kiss or what?”

Ignoring the question for a more aesthetically worrying issue, Vincent crossed his arm over his stomach and propped the elbow of the arm holding his mug on it, as he raised an eyebrow. No, sadly he wasn’t surprised at Cid’s nakedness, but it was a little…disconcerting, if not necessarily unappealing. “If I am to continue living with you, Cid, then we’re going to have to invest in a robe, I should think.” He held up his mug, shutting his eyes when he saw Cid’s mouth come open, stopping the indignant reply. “Yes, I know that these are your quarters, but a little modesty goes a long way.” He then opened his eyes and grinned when he saw Cid’s crestfallen face. Vincent walked over to straddle the pilot’s legs and sit on the man’s lap. He wrapped his arms around Cid’s thicker neck and kissed him soundly, probing deeply with his tongue before sucking on the blonde’s lower lip as he pulled away. “Good morning,” he murmured, voice deep and soft, “did you sleep well?”

“Woulda slept better if you could sleep,” he pouted, setting his tea aside in favor of pulling Vincent closer. “But yeah, I did. Nice knowin’ you were there.” He smiled against Vincent’s ear. “Did you look? I think it’s finished.” His hands were beginning to stroke up and down Vincent’s back again, almost possessively. “Ah, shit. We better get goin’, huh? Spiky’s gonna be lookin’ for us. But dammit, I don’t wanna move just yet.”

“Mmmm,” Vincent hummed in pleasure, letting his eyes slide shut at the feel of those calloused hands sliding across his skin and he leaned into Cid’s body. His mug joined Cid’s on the small table by the chair as he returned his arms to around the pilot’s neck. “Who says I didn’t? It has been a long time since I have felt that safe, Cid, thank you.” So he told a little fib, but his inability…or rather, _fear_ , of sleep was his problem and none of Cid’s concern. At the off-hand mention of what had to be the painting, Vincent was a little curious. With a sorrowful moan from Cid, he slid off the man’s lap and ventured back in by the bed to stand in front of the easel, calling as he went, “Don’t worry Cid, the sun is only just coming up, we have time… yet.” He ended in a whisper as he looked at the painting. His own vermilion eyes stared back from a moment frozen in time; a relaxed position with head cocked inquisitively and a portion of his wild hair falling into his face. But what made him stare was the smile that he wore. _What was I thinking at that moment to make me look like that?_ He wondered as he brought his fingers to his lips. It was such a soft smile; alluring, beckoning and yet there was a lost innocence there, a shyness that he thought had been stripped from him forever. He was beautiful, vivid; alive. 

“Is this how you see me?” He whispered, entranced and yet disbelieving. “So beautiful,” he breathed. He was distantly aware of Cid standing next to the easel, watching him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the painting. His eyes slowly began to take in the rest: proportion, texture, shading and such exquisite detail, until he saw his ruined arm. He blushed and tried to hide the appendage under his other arm even as he noticed the scar just below his breastbone. His right hand came out and his fingers hovered just over the painted blemish then returned to rub the real thing and, quite unbidden his eyes burned and filled with tears. He fought to control them, but not before a single one dropped to trace a wet path down one pale cheek. That one scar, the permanent reminder of the day his identity, his freedom…his _life_ had been taken from him; when that innocence he had seen only seconds before, had been destroyed along with everything that had made him who he was. He looked at Cid who stared back at him soberly. “Who am I?” he whispered pleadingly, crossing his arms over his chest as he suddenly became cold. “Cid, who…who _am_ I?”

“You’re Vincent Valentine. You’re a fighter. You’re the one I love so much I’d give anything. You’re everything I want. You’re the strongest, bravest man I know. An’ so much more, Vin. _So_ much more.” He walked to stand beside Vincent and slid his arms around his shoulders. “You’re mine, if you have nothin’ to say against that. The rest… honey, you have time to figure out the rest. An’ if you’re mine, none of the rest matters half as much, ‘cause you’re still gonna belong to me no matter who you are.” He pulled away slightly, kissing away the tear and its companions. “An’ I’ll still belong to you,” he finished as he took Vincent’s hand and made it run over the painting. “’Beautiful’, you said,” he commented, using the captive hand to trace the quiet smile, the pale skin, the untamed hair, and the scars. “So what do you think this is?” he asked, moving to make Vincent’s hand trail down his body, from the shoulders down to the waist, then up again to cup the conflicted face. “Beautiful,” he said again. “I only paint what’s right in front o’ me, Vincent, an’ I usually avoid usin’ people as subjects, ‘cause they’re rarely as beautiful on the inside as they are outside. But _you_ …I couldn’t _not_ use you. Perfect inside an’ out, an’ even more so ‘cause you didn’t see it. But I want you to see it, when you’re ready. An’ when you are, you’ll know who you are. It ain’t somethin’ I can tell ya. But I can tell ya that I love ya.” He looked back at the painting and remembered suddenly how it had felt to study Vincent so carefully, to copy it down inch for inch, and what had come after that…Cid tried to hide his body’s reaction, and winced when he noticed Vincent registering it. _Maybe a robe ain’t such a bad idea after all…_

What could he say to that? As Cid talked, Vincent had just watched the pilot’s expression, transfixed. He had studied that precious face, looking for a lie and when he didn’t find any his heart had wept. Then Cid had walked his fingers over the figure on the canvas and had called him beautiful, inside and out. Part of him had sneered at empty words, the part of him that Hojo had torn apart and ruined and had become the mask he wore for the world, but in the deepest part of his heart, the part he had closed off in a desperate attempt to protect it, hope sighed a new breath. In the quiet moment following Cid’s declaration of love, Vincent had stood, wrapped in Cid’s strong, warm arms as they continued to stare at the painting. 

Suddenly Vincent stiffened when he felt something _else_ stiffen. He grinned slowly and turned in Cid’s embrace to wrap his arms around the pilot’s waist and press the man flush against his own stirring body. He stared long and deep into Cid’s blue eyes and said softly and sincerely, “I _am_ yours, Cid. I’ve _always_ been yours, I think. It just took me too long to see it. Hmph, and it _would_ take someone of your _infuriating_ persistence to see what I had kept hidden for so long that I thought it dead.” He leaned forward and kissed Cid slowly, deeply, bringing up a hand to cup the man’s cheek. He leaned back and then placed that hand in the center of Cid’s chest. “There is much that you don’t know about me, things that are dark… and ugly. As much as I want to protect you from that, I also want you to be a part of me, so when I am ready, I will share them with you. I _am_ a monster, Cid, but perhaps… perhaps not an _evil_ one, as I had once thought.” He ran his hand from Cid’s chest down over a ribbed abdomen, down lower still to brush against the man’s erection, feeling a flutter in his belly when he heard Cid gasp and saw him shiver at his touch, before returning his hand back around to the pilot’s lower back with the other. “In you, Cid, I see hope, and a future where before there was nothing. What I feel for you gives me more strength than did my need for vengeance, and if you know nothing else, then know this: I love you. I will stand and fight by your side, and if fate demands it and the gods are merciful, I will die by it as well with your name on my lips. But…” he trailed off and began to grin, undulating his hips against Cid’s causing the pilot to groan out loud, “… there are a _few_ things I’d like to do before I’ll allow a little thing like death to stop me.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively then jumped, yelping when Cid pinched his ass.

“Now you behave, ya hear?” Cid whispered into his ear while he worked to get off the pants he really wished Vincent would never have put on. Once they were undone, they slid easily to the floor, and Vincent stepped out of them. Cid wanted to do everything all at once. Part of him wanted him to drop to his knees, another part wanted to get Vincent back in bed and see just how much time they could waste, one wanted to just hold him until it was time to go, but most of all, he wanted to explore. They had rushed into the night before, and today they still didn’t have time, no matter what Vincent said. Cid grabbed one of Vincent’s legs and lifted it to wrap around him, sighing happily when Vincent understood and brought up the other as well. He groaned again when their bodies came together as he walked them to the wall, hands beneath Vincent, holding him up. He rocked gently, wishing for the lube in the drawer so their sliding together would be smoother. He kissed Vincent’s neck as long as he could take it, biting down sharply when it got to be too much. “This one o’ them ‘few things’ y’had in mind?”

“Yes!” Vincent choked out when he felt Cid’s teeth on his neck and in answer to the man’s question. The cold wall and scorching skin under his hands made a contrast that only served to heighten his arousal, and he angled his pelvis to encourage Cid’s entry. Vincent grasped either side of Cid’s face, “Cid-“ 

“I don’t wan’ it-“ Cid gasped. 

“It won’t. I’m ready for you,” he murmured. 

“Vince-“ 

“Do it!” he cried before he caught Cid’s mouth in a blistering, toe-curling kiss. Cid groaned, parted his buttocks and eased past the tight ring of muscle. Vincent winced, hissing in a breath between his teeth at the bearable pain, pushing out to ease both it and Cid’s entry. But he was still wet and relaxed from their previous lovemaking and as Cid began to thrust, the friction began to cause his belly to tingle and tighten in pleasure. His arms slid around Cid’s neck as he held the pilot’s head to his own neck where the blond proceeded to nip and suckle, causing him to shiver. Cid’s cock struck that spot within him and a cry was pulled from his throat. He then turned his head in to gasp into Cid’s ear, “Faster, Cid… _nnn, harder_!” and Cid complied until the ferocity of the man’s thrusts had him threatening to get wall-burn. Orgasm hit him suddenly and hit him _hard_ , Cid not a heartbeat behind, as his seed spurted up onto both of their stomachs. With abdominal muscles quivering, Vincent’s arms slipped from around Cid to hang loosely by his sides, and the only things holding him up were his legs wrapped around Cid’s waist and the pilot leaning into him, panting and pinning him to wall. This time he was a little more lucid to the eerie purring emanating from him. 

Cid pulled back and ran his fingers over Vincent’s cheek, asking raggedly, “Is that purrin’ gonna happen every time, honey? ‘Cause I like it.” 

The blonde leaned in to nibble along his jaw causing him to tilt his head back and to the side. “I-I don’t kn-“ he trailed off, having a difficult time focusing on anything but those lips and teeth against his flesh. When Vincent didn’t finish what he was saying Cid pulled back again to watch his face. He blinked rapidly, the purring dying away and said, “I don’t know, Cid. This is the first time I’ve had sex since…” _Hojo got a hold of me._  He finished silently. 

Cid knew what he couldn’t say and replied, “Well, I like it, Vince. Lets me know when I done somethin’ right, yeah?” 

Cid grinned, kissing him so soundly that he couldn’t find words with which to argue. But he _did_ gather enough wits to murmur, “We should clean up or we will be late in meeting the others…” to which Cid commenced muttering unintelligible curses, but didn’t disagree. Without letting Vincent down, he walked them both into the bathroom. 

They showered together, sharing kisses and caresses and when they finished, Cid took particular delight in toweling Vincent off, alternating with little nips and kisses when he saw a bit of flesh that appealed to him. Finally, after taking a conspicuously long amount of time to dry off, they dressed, quietly and soberly. And as Cid affixed his goggles to his head, took the Venus Gospel in hand, and lit a cigarette, Vincent finished buckling his gauntlet in place, chin tucked behind the high collar of his crimson mantle once more after strapping Death Penalty onto his thigh, it was as though they were only comrades. But as their eyes met and softened, words passed unspoken and touches passed unfelt. They weren’t needed, because they knew they had their newly realized love. With a final nod to each other, Cid Highwind and Vincent Valentine exited the Captain’s Quarters to rendezvous with their friends to go and save the world.

 

Illustration by: [Animama](http://ani-mama.livejournal.com/)


End file.
